Murphy's law
by kilroyactual117
Summary: Lieutenant David Brandon is a soldier in the UNSC Army Airborne who believes his career has failed. When he is recruited by ONI for a mission that ends up being more than he signed on for he must again face his fear that he cannot protect those he leads. Will anything that can go wrong go wrong for him once again, or will it take a Spartan to show him what it means to be human?
1. Chapter 1: Into the Howling Dark

"When things go wrong, you'll find they usually go on getting worse for some time; but when things once start going right they often go on getting better and better." -C.S. Lewis

* * *

"anything that can go wrong will go wrong," -Murphy

* * *

Location: UNSC Army cemetery space platform, currently orbiting glassed colony, Reach, 11:00 standard military time, January 3rd, 2558

LT. Brandon used to love to come to Reach during the war, the great rolling hills and beautiful sky, canyons so deep it was as though they would never end, it almost made you forget that humanity was in a state of total war.

But once Reach was glassed, coming back became almost as gut wrenching for him as when he last deployed to here.

Now as he walked through the orbiting UEG cemetery the battle was brought back to him in all its horrible detail.

The cemetery was built to look like Reach's surface before the glassing.

Monuments and tombstones dotted the surface of the memorial, depictions of soldiers encircled by the Covenant and fighting heroically to the end, Of men leading warthog charges and raising flags on covenant positions.

And then there was Noble team, their monument was built bigger and more detailed than any of the others.

He began to wonder why they deserved anymore horrible detail than any of the other monuments to brave men and women who had fought the same game of inches they had and lost just the same.

The life like recreation of Reach's sky and surface only reminded him of how the real planet would never look this way again, not after the covenant glassed it that is.

As soon as he entered the artificial grass that composed the cemetery grounds he knew exactly where he was going, a small grave marked, "here lies Staff Sergeant Michael O'Conner, killed in action during operation: UPPERCUT, August 15th, 2552."

Brandon knelt down and touched the grave stone. Michael had been, still was, his best friend. He Had watched him die.

"Why did I have to be the one to survive?" Brandon half whispered to himself, "you were the best soldier and the best friend I ever had."

As he continued to think over the battle and the loss of his friend, all he could think of was the Covenant, their unprovoked aggression, and how no amount of suffering on their part could ever atone for the loss of his friend.

"I'll see you in hell, as if it isn't crowded enough after this damned war," he said to his fallen comrade. He stood up, medals on his dress uniform clanking, faced about, stepped forward, and tripped and fell on his face.

"Damn!" He said out loud, as if yelling at the empty cemetery.

Lieutenant Brandon had never been very good at foot placement, almost everyone who knew him believed he was the clumsiest man they had ever met, except those who had seen him in combat. It was his hallmark, the only time he wasn't clumsy was when his life was in danger. He looked to see the cause of his blunder, which turned out to be an untied shoe lace.

"Anything that can go wrong..." He muttered.

As he knelt down to tie his shoe he heard two sets of foot steps approaching him. He continued to look down at his shoe and hope against hope that it wasn't Marines coming over to jeer at him.

"Lieutenant David Brandon I presume?" The approaching female voice said.

"Please let me at least leave here with my dignity," he said, half to those approaching, half to himself.

"I think you're already well past that point Lieutenant," she said, "allow me to introduce myself, I am Rear Admiral Serin Osman, commander in chief of the Office of Naval Intelligence."

Brandon's heart skipped a beat, he jumped to his feet as fast as he could, stood with the best posture he could manage, saluted and yelled, "Lieutenant David Brandon awaiting orders sir!"

His eyes finally met her's and the unimpressed look on her face told him exactly how little she had appreciated his reaction.

"At ease Lieutenant," she said, "no need to give your self a heart attack." "Yes sir, sorry sir" David responded immediately, and with more than a little embarrassment. he surveyed the area quickly.

To the left of the Admiral was a lone female Spartan wearing Mjolnir EOD armor, right hand on a pistol and staring straight at him through a matte black face plate with an all consuming look akin to that of a black hole. Clad in bright red and foliage green she looked rather intimidating, like a god in shining armor or a demon without a face, he couldn't decide.

 _Helluva body guard_ , Brandon thought.

Brandon, along with most of the rest of UNSC ground forces did not like Spartans. To him they had always taken to much glory for having done to little, especially when compared to the thousands of soldiers who had died here on reach. He decided to reserve his judgement of this Spartan until he was sure she wasn't here as Osman's personal hit woman.

The admiral's face was serious, but not stone cold like other ONI officers he had met. Her jet black hair was tied behind her head and she wore a UNSC Navy officer's combat uniform devoid of any awards other than her name tape, rank, and an ONI unit crest.

By the look of the both of them they meant business, so he decided to get right to the point.

"With respect sir, how do you know who I am? It's not as if I'm on the radar of anyone these days."

The moment the question left his mouth he knew it was a dumb one. ONI knows everything about everyone, right?

"You give yourself to little credit Lieutenant, you were on reach and earth during the war were you not? I just came to shake your hand," she stated matter-of-factly.

She extend her hand and Brandon shook it, not buying a word of it. He knew her type, when an ONI spook came and talk to you in person, especially without warning, they wanted something.

"And because of your numerous exploits, I would like to offer you a job," she said with a slight grin on her face.

Here we go he thought.

"Lieutenant Brandon, you know military technology inside and out. You scored top of your unit in technological aptitude, they almost let you in on some of the first ONI REAP-X projects, but you refused and joined the airborne. Why was that?"

"I guess you could say blind patriotism sir."

Osman smirked, "well then I guess you'll be happy to know it looks as though REAP-X needs you for a project once again."

Brandon still wasn't buying anything she was saying, "Alright, what could they possibly want with me now?"

"Well, officially nothing," she said, her face dead serious, "but unofficially it's a different story, all I can tell you is that it involves advanced alien technology that REAP-X is working with in order to improve UNSC heavy weapons and you would be an attaché to a field team aboard the prowler UNSC _Murphy's Law_ on a mission to recover this technology and assist REAP-X by providing a bit of technical advise combine with the perspective of an experienced soldier. Spartan Alison 065 here will be your escort, you'll be in good hands lieutenant. I can't tell you anymore until you accept the job, other than this could save a lot of lives."

David mulled this over. He knew no ONI mission was ever a minor one, they always involved some unforeseen complication not expressed in the original agreement. But if this mission gave him any chance to keep what happened to his best friend from happening to someone else, it was worth it.

"And if I refuse?" He stated with all of the guts he could muster, knowing that anything he opted to say in the next ten minutes could have him transferred to a reconstruction unit on earth for the rest of his career.

"ONI isn't big on positive reinforcement Lieutenant," she stated with a grin, "take all the time you need, and feel free to get acquainted with Spartan 065 while your at it, I'll be waiting aboard the _Murphy's Law_. I expect your arrivals shortly."

She turned about and walked towards the station's docking bay, as if daring Brandon not to accept her offer.

Lieutenant Brandon decided he probably would be best served to comply. He walked up to the Spartan, who still had a hand on her pistol.

"So, don't suppose you know any more about this than I do?"

* * *

Location: modified pelican drop ship bogof, en-route to prowler class vessel UNSC _Murphy's Law_ in geosynchronous orbit above planet reach, 11:15 standard military time, January 3rd, 2558

Serin strapped into her seat in the pelican's troop bay as Devereaux was completing her preflight checklist.

While waiting for her to fire up the engines she went deep into thought. She began to think of lieutenant brandon and what she was about to string him along on. Everybody she had brought on recent missions with her hadn't left the same as they came, for better or for worse.

She had lead Spartan Naomi to believe her father was dead, only to go have her receive a package from him from the grave, she had uprooted the lives of Vaz and Mal right in the middle of a period of mourning for them over all the friends they had lost just to thrust them into hidden war that made them question the validity of what they had died for in the first place.

She became so pensive over this she didn't realize that the pelican had fired up and left the hangar bay, and only snapped out of it when Devereaux addressed her over the intercom.

"Approaching the Murphy's law, stand by" the ODST said.

She decided to shake off such negative thoughts and focus on the future, and promise herself the lieutenant's experience under her command should not, no, would not be so traumatic.

As the dropship descended into the hanger Serin exited her seat, thanked Devereaux and exited the drop ship.

As she strolled across a hanger bay littered with piles of vehicles and weapons that the ships huragok, requires adjustment, was in the process of modifying, she spotted Mal and Vaz, two marines she had picked up for her last mission to Venezia, now she had asked them to rejoin her crew as they traveled to their next mission. As soon as she asked if the would go, without question they followed.

She hadn't even told them where they were going. But now as she approached the two marines she felt that they may be less upset about that and more upset about who she was bringing aboard with her, and decided to warn them before he boarded.

"Good morning marines" she addressed them as they sat at a makeshift table cleaning weapons.

Both stood and gave her quick and snappy salutes. Osman returned the salute and they both sat back down.

"Hello admiral, have a nice trip?" Asked Mal, before immediately returning to his disassembled DMR.

Her words hadn't elicited quite the reaction they had from lieutenant Brandon, but these men knew her well, and she knew that as much respect and fear for her as Brandon had, they had more.

"Well gentleman, it appears as though we will soon be having two new members added to our crew in the near future."

"Yes, and who do you suppose they will be?" Vaz said sounding rather indifferent, but then again, his Russian accent always made him sound that way.

"The first member will be a spartan two, Allison 010. She will be accompanying us for the duration of the mission" she said, expecting Vaz's immediate response.

"so I guess that means no Naomi then?" Vaz said disappointedly.

"Unfortunately no, she has been redeployed to other conflicts but will be rejoining us in the future" Osman said, now waiting for Mal's sarcasm to come out.

"You sure you can live without your girlfriend for a month vas, or will I see you on waypoint with her for hours each day now?" Mal said sarcastically and lightly punched his friend in the shoulder.

Vaz didn't take it so lightly. "maybe" he said somberly, and with that, Mal backed off.

"Oh you haven't heard the half of it, the other crewman joining us is UNSC Army Lieutenant David Brandon, he commanded the 52nd Airborne during the battle of Reach. He will be our technical expert on this mission and his roll will be better covered in the coming briefing."

Both the marines burst out laughing.

"you've got to be joking Admiral, you're letting Army personnel on to this ship? Really?"

Mal was barely able to manage over his own laughing.

"Hope he doesn't get sea sick, it's bad enough it'll take me a month to teach him the bow from the stern" Vaz said, half serious and half sarcastically.

"I understand your concern lieutenant is not up to the task" Osman said, in such a serious manner it prompted Mal and Vaz to stop laughing, "but I only pick the best and although his Army heritage made even me initially biased, I can assure you the Lieutenant is perfectly capable and his combat record is top of the line."

"Don't think that means we're going easy on him, he's prime material for one liner jokes" Mal said with a chuckle.

"As much as that is true I would advise you go easier on him than usual, it isn't for no reason we're picking him up from a cemetery, he's lost a lot of friends in the past ten years, and I'd advise we don't lash out at him in the middle of mourning."

It was at that point Mal though back to the friends he lost in the battle of earth, and although maybe in not such a light hearted fashion, and without so much alcohol, Brandon was mourning same as he did. He'd go easy on him, comparatively.

"Yes sir!" They replied in unison, and with that, Osman set out to prepare for the new crew member's arrival.

* * *

Location: docking bay, UNSC Army cemetery orbiting planet reach, 11:23 hours standard military time, January 3, 2559

Brandon found it incredibly awkward trying to get acquainted with Alison. After just a couple of minutes of knowing her, he could easily confirm any roomers of Spartans not being big talkers.

"So, what is your favorite color?" Brandon asked in the most awkward way possible, having completely exhausted every other question he could think of.

"Red, like my armor," she replied tersely.

He just stood there, wondering why he ever thought that would start a conversation.

"Look Allison, or Spartan 065, we are about to go on a deployment with ONI, I'm sorry but I don't know anything about this mission and I just want to get to know who you are so I can at least know who's watching my back before I leave," he said trying not to sound annoyed.

He knew who was watching his back, a Spartan. The saviors who never seem to save anyone.

"And please take off your helmet, it gives me the creeps to be talking to a face shield."

Here he was, on the hallowed ground where his brothers had died, and she couldn't even give him the decency of a face to face conversation.

She complied and after a few clicks on her wrist control interface, she popped the seal on her helmet and removed it to reveal an incredibly young looking woman, her gorgeous black hair fell from her helmet and hung around her shoulders. Her pale skin only making her deep, icy, blue eyes show even more brightly by comparison. She was beautiful, and Brandon instantly regretted calling her a face shield.

"Well lieutenant, I honestly am unsure of what to tell you. I know as much as you do."

Her face was blank and completely unreadable. The only thing he could really tell about her was that she looked very, very uncomfortable.

She slid her helmet back over her head and the previously unreadable soldier became even more blank and machine like.

He could tell she just wanted to be left alone. He obliged and walked off to the docking bay.

* * *

REAP-X: reverse engineering and prototyping xenotechnology. ONI's engineering division


	2. Chapter 2: And Did Not Return

"Don't look conspicuous; it draws fire."

-excerpt from Murphy's Laws of Combat Operations

* * *

Location: UNSC _Murphy's law_ in geosynchronous orbit above planet Reach, 12:30 standard military time, January 3rd, 2558

* * *

Brandon had been staring out the window of the pelican since it had sped away from the cemetery's docking bay and still could not figure out where it was headed.

As far as he could tell there were no ships in line with the current trajectory the pelican was heading. He was about to ask the pilot if she knew where she was going when a Prowler class vessel decloaked not 200 meters of the bow of the pelican.

The drop ship's pilot expertly maneuvered the pelican underneath the ship and up into its hangar bay. Brandon walked next to Alison as they exited the drop ship, followed by its pilot, Lian Devereaux.

They strolled across the hanger taking in the sheer amount of weapons and vehicles, both UNSC and Covenant, sitting around, some half disassembled and others that were intact and looked nothing like their former selves. They all appeared to be upgraded in at least one way, some didn't even look like they were fireable anymore.

 _This place looks like my garage_ , Brandon thought.

What was even more curious was that the only crew he could see around were two raggedy ass looking marines with an Admiral Osman standing between them.

 _Kind of a motley crew for an ONI ship_ , he though.

As he approached the crew he wasn't really expecting what to think of them.

"Good evening Lieutenant Brandon and thank you for joining us. Welcome aboard the UNSC _Murphy's law_ , the crew here is pretty skeleton but every member is the absolute best in their field. Mal and Vaz are both top notch marines and Dev is the best pilot in the ODSTs. But trust me, you'll get to know them latter," she said with a smile. "As for the ship we carry a full compliment of weapons and stealth systems as well as a huragok, which is the cause for the mountains of disassembled weapons."

Brandon had heard of huragok, or engineers as they were called by the enlisted men. They were interesting little creatures, and he was looking forward to seeing them in action.

"Adj, you can come out now," she called to a door on the other side of the hangar, and at lightning speed a blue and pink mass of tentacles floated towards them.

"greetings, I am huragok designate requires adjustment. Do you require assistance reclaimer?" The huragok said thought its translation device.

"No thank you, I'm fine," Brandon said to the curious creature, which waisted no time and sped off without a word to a pile of weapons and began to disassemble them with lightning speed.

"Now that you are acquainted with the crew I will turn you over to our ships AI for your mission briefing."

As she said this an AI hologram that appeared to be a plain blue box popped up behind her. "Good evening gentleman and ladies! I am Black Box, your shipboard AI, but please, call me BB. I know all and see all so try to behave yourselves. I will be walking you through the truly splendid mission we have for us today," BB said with as much sarcasm as an AI could possibly contain.

It then proceeded to project something onto itself that looked like a planet shooting out a large laser.

"This dear boys and girls is Draetheus v's moon X50. You may recognize the name from the war games tactical simulator as the planet where Commander Sarah Palmer made a name for herself. X50 is a forerunner machine built to build and destroy planets. That large laser is literally, the second most destructive weapon know to man after Halo. ONI REAP-X wants us to go to this moon and attempt to reverse engineer the technology located there, and hopefully get some useful kit out of it. However, since the battle of Draetheus V the moon is currently abandoned and in covenant occupied space, it won't be easy getting their but our prowler technology should assist with that. When we arrive we will assist REAP-X teams by providing security and lieutenant Brandon will serve as our resident expert on military technology. Any questions?"

"Yeah," Mal said "why is there a complete lack of details in this report about everything from Covenant strength to how safe this thing exactly is?"

"Truth be told we don't know," Osman said, honesty in her expression, "but what does it matter anyway? We don't plan, we improvise."

That was not what Brandon had wanted to hear.

"Does anyone have anything to add?"

No one said a word.

"Well, now that we have that cleared up, BB, get us underway," she commanded.

"Yes sir," he responded, and the ship jumped almost immediately after.

"Brandon, Alison, follow me to your new quarters." Brandon began to think this mission may not be quite as bad as he had expected as he followed the admiral into the depths of the ship.

Location: UNSC _Murphy's law_ , en route to forerunner installation X50, 20:00 hours standard military time, January 3rd, 2559

Alison sat awkwardly down on the bed of her new quarters. It was a very strange experience for her to have a cabin this nice all to herself. Come to think of it, she couldn't think of the last time she had slept out of armor in the past five months.

ONI only provided the best, and this cabin was no exception. It had a large comfortable couch in addition to a desk with a plush leather chair and computer terminal. A painting of an old earth navy ship was hung above the comfy looking bed which sat across from a spacious closet which contained nothing but her vacuum suit and a change of BDU's.

She couldn't help but question the necessity of it all and why she was lounging in a plush cabin while other Spartans and marines were slugging it out in the mud, but decided to enjoy it while it lasted.

She laid down and tried to catch some rest but something inside of her made her completely unable to enjoy this rare opportunity she had been given. As absolutely exhausted as she was she could not bring herself to close her eyes and simply sleep. She began to fidget and toss and turn. Finally she decided it was no use, she wasn't falling asleep anytime soon.

She sat up and began to pace the room restlessly. Having nothing to do and no way to sleep always messed with her. She remembered the Lieutenant wanting to know more about her back on the station. She wasn't quite sure what she thought of him yet, but wanting to know a little about someone who was supposed to watch your back was understandable, and talking to him was better than sitting here and slowly driving herself crazy.

She pressed the intercom button on the door of the Lieutenant's room.

"Lieutenant? May I come in?" She asked.

He looked understandably surprised to see her. What could she possibly want now?

"Sure," he responded.

She entered and glanced around the room.

Even at first glance she noticed he wasn't like most Army personnel she had seen. From what little contact with regular UNSC forces she had had she had come to know that the army was incredibly picky about how there armor and uniforms were set up, but simply glancing at the lieutenant she quickly figured out he had no such qualms. He wore a pt hoodie that looked absolutely threadbare and a pair of BDU pants that were still for some reason made in that incredibly useless 21st century UCP camouflage. His armor sat next to him in kind of a pile. It was an old set of airborne infantry armor, with several non standard mag pouches and pieces of armor plate haphazardly welded and Velcroed to it charred, matte brown surface. His hair was buzz cut to the point that he was nearly bald and his five o'clock shadow hid a small wound from What looked like a bullet ricochet. Other than that he didn't look particularly battle weary. His skin wasn't dry and cracked like most soldiers and his hands were only about as calloused as anyone else in the UNSC, but when he looked at her he could see it in his eyes. This man had seen a lot of combat.

"Hello Lieutenant, I couldn't sleep so I decided to come over here. Maybe we could talk," she said, in much the same way she even tone she had spoken in earlier.

"What did you want to know?" He inquired.

He really didn't want to tell her anything. He knew about Spartans, and all the glory they took compared to the supreme lack of help that they really were.

She walked over to the couch to the side of his bed and sat down.

"Well, tell me about the unit you were attached to before now, I was told by admiral Osman that your unit was quite famous among the Army."

The question infuriated him. The Spartans were already party to there own set of heroic fair tales. Why did she care about how the other half really lived? He attempted to dodge the question.

"And why would you possibly care what happened to them?" he said after a moment, "stories like theirs typically aren't the best morale boosts."

"I don't know," she responded, seeming oblivious to the Lieutenant's annoyance, "besides, hearing a story about a unit of war heroes can't be all that bad."

Brandon sat and thought for a long moment. Ever since he had entered the cemetery that day images of his fallen comrades had invaded his mind, taking over his thoughts and drugging up memories he was sure he had made himself forget. Her mention of it only made it worse. He had wanted to tell someone about it for a long time, but a Spartan? What kind of help would that be anyway?

He looked over at her. She seemed unnaturally eager to hear the story.

 _What the hell, maybe it would be good for her to know how the war really went_ , he thought.

"They're only heroes because they're martyrs," he said coldly, "They're dead, killed in an ambush during operation: UPPERCUT on Reach back in 2552. We had to defend a saber facility so some group of Spartans could get into orbit to do God knows what, or at least we died trying," He said sternly. He could still see the faces and names of all the dead and dying troopers. No wonder he got upset when the Army's role in the war was downplayed.

"Uh...wow," Alison said aloud in shock.

"Yeah I expected as much," Brandon shot back, still trying to get his fallen comrades faces out of his head. He swore he was almost still there, the faces of his men burned into the back of his mind still seemed like they had died only yesterday. He fought the anger that came over him when he though about them, anger at the Covenant, anger at the circumstances, anger at himself for what he saw as his own lapse of duty, anger at Alison for getting all the glory for a fight his men had fought and died in.

"I'm sorry Lieutenant," she said dryly.

"And why would you be?" He asked in a venomous tone, "I've had people swear up and down to me that every active Spartan was on Reach when it fell, and I didn't see one of them. Hell, I heard noble team was less than a click away from me at one point. My unit was being overrun, I called broken arrow, and I didn't see any Spartans show up to help. So why do I see a monument to you on every corner while my men get to be forgotten?"

Hot tears began to roll down Brandon's face as his memories of operation UPPERCUT came back to him in full force. It was only about ten minutes into the battle and he was already dragging his best friend from an overturned warthog by his drag Handle, a plasma burn on his thigh, a two foot long piece of shrapnel sticking through him and his vest. By the time Brandon had pulled Sergeant Michael from the vehicle his screams had stopped and he had already died. Brandon tore off Michael's vest to try to revive him with bio foam and CPR but it was no use, his best friend was dead, he hadn't died in a blaze of glory like people seem to think all soldiers go out in, he had gone out with a whimper.

Brandon wiped the two single tears from his face and stared straight ahead.

Alison looked at him with a saddened expression, which vanished a moment latter before he could notice it. She felt a twang of guilt about the whole thing. She wanted to do something for him, but she didn't know what. He hated her, and she still didn't understand why. She hadn't been on Reach, she couldn't have helped him even if she had known.

"I'm sorry Lieutenant, I shouldn't have come here in the first place."

He shot her a glare that clearly read get out, but once she had left he felt almost worse than when she had asked him the question. This time he didn't feel angry, he felt guilty. He had just chewed out Alison for what? Trying to talk to him, which was probably quite a difficult thing for a Spartan to do.

 _Boy you sure screwed that one up_ , he though.

He contemplated running after her and apologizing but he doubted she would appreciate hearing anything out of him right now.

It was going to be a long mission, and he was going to find a way to make it up to her.

Neither he nor Alison slept well that night. Each simply stared at the ceiling and thought restlessly about a war they had yet to come to terms with.


	3. Chapter 3: The Best Laid Plans

**"No battle plan survives contact with the enemy,"**

 **-Helmuth Von Moltke**

* * *

Location: UNSC _Murphy's law_ , stand off distance from forerunner installation X50, Draetheus system, 07:00 standard military time, January 4th, 2558

* * *

Brandon was alerted to how long he had been lying awake when BB's voice came over the loud speaker, "all hands, we are exiting slipspace, please report to the bridge."

Brandon felt awful. He had had an entire night to think about how terribly he had treated Alison, and it didn't sit well with him.

Looking back at what he had said he couldn't believe his own words, and how callus he had been.

He took off for the bridge, purposefully positioning himself in a corridor he knew Alison would have to go through. As if on cue she came striding down the corridor at full speed. He stopped her, and even though her expression was blank, he could tell she wasn't happy to see him.

"Sir?" She asked in an indifferent tone.

He half wished she would punch his lights out right then and there, she more than deserved to. She kept her cool in a way he hadn't been able to. It made him feel just that much more awful.

He took a deep breath before he began, "Alison, I am so sorry for last night. I should have never chewed you out like that. Putting my men's deaths on your shoulders was wrong."

Her face didn't change, "it's no problem sir."

"Yes it is," He said insistently, "I let my grieving get the better of me, and I took it out on you. It's unacceptable. I don't deserve to ever have you ever talk to me again, much less grant me any requests, but please don't call me sir any longer. I promise I'll make this up to you."

she paused for long moment and appeared to be studying him. After a second her expression softened, if only slightly.

"Acknowledged lieutenant. Thank you for the apology," she said. He gave her an apologetic smile she didn't return, and they both took off for the bridge.

As they entered the ships almost entirely glass bridge they saw Mal, Vaz and Osman standing by the bridges main viewport with BB's avatar in between them. Dev came in shortly behind them, all were kited out in their full armor and ready to go. Outside the view port was Draetheus V and its moon.

"Well, I'm not going to sugar coat this one bit. The mission directive has changed and I don't think any of you are gonna like it," said the Admiral, before dragging her hands across the bridges view screen to magnify Draetheus V's moon.

As she zoomed in on the moon several UNSC ships came into view around the moon.

Mal was clearly unimpressed, "ok then, we have half the Navy here to support us. Where did it go wrong?"

"That's just it," said BB, "none of these ships are ours. All of these ships were all reported lost in slip space by the UNSC. We made contact with the REAP-X prowler that was supposed to meet us here, they were able to identify two of these craft as the UNSC _Masada_ and the UNSC _Alabama_ , both of these craft left in a slip space jump along with their respective battle groups, neither of them came out on the other side. They simply vanished, and now it appears we've found them."

"Who's in control of them" Brandon asked, perplexed by the whole situation.

"It appears to be some rather high profile innies. All of the ships bear URF markings that might as well have been done in spray paint. BB is scanning now to see if we can find out anything else."

"Scan complete Admiral," piped up BB "and I have found something rather interesting. It appears as thought a group of three condor class transports just jumped into the system; scans show that they contain supplies for the fleet and a small URF settlement on the moon. Based on their approach vector they came from the Taurus system, only about a light year away from here."

"Well I suppose that gives us a good place to start," Osman said, "if we insert Brandon and Alison there undercover maybe we could get them on one of those condors and into the URF fleet."

 _Undercover?_ Brandon thought to himself, _Who the hell decided I was going undercover?_ He almost protested against the decision, but Brandon was smart enough to know not to raise an objection against ONI.

"Hold on a minute Admiral," Vaz said with concern, "who decided it was a good idea that those two go undercover, we have the most experience here," he said gesturing to himself and Mal.

"Unfortunately after the exploits of your last mission every separatist who hasn't been living under a rock for the last five years knows who you guys are" stated Osman, "of all of us on this ship the only two of us who have had no previous contact with the URF are Alison and Brandon. Try not to get captured next time Vaz, then you'll get the fun assignments. don't worry though, I still have an assignment for you and Mal."

"Oh boy," responded Vaz.

"While we deploy Brandon and Alison to the were ever in the Taurus system the URF is operating you two are to descend to the surface of that forerunner installation and do a little bit of force recon on the URF's ground positions. Pack rations and lots of water, you may be there for quite a while," Said Osman.

Grins formed on the two marines faces. "Finally, some real good o'l fashion field work," cheered Mal, "I can't think of the last time I had some actual ground pounding work to do since I joined this outfit."

"It's settled then," said Osman, "Devereaux will deploy Mal and Vaz to X50 immediately, then return to pick up Alison and Brandon for immediate transport to the Taurus system."

"Yes sir," replied Devereaux.

"Everyone else, move out!" Osman exclaimed to her crew, and like a well oiled machine they all took off to prepare for their mission.

* * *

Location: hangar bay, UNSC _Murphy's law_ , in orbit above forerunner installation X50, 07:15 standard military time, January 4, 2558

As Devereux entered the hangar she broke into a run, she ran to the weapons locker opposite her pelican, _Bogof_ , and picked up her customary handgun and shotgun, ramming a magazine into her M6 and filling the shotgun with shells as fast as she could. She then ran over to consult adj about any potential problems _Bogof_ might have, without even turning away from the warthog he was modifying adj insisted no problems would occur because he had worked on it himself.

She wanted to object but realized that trying to argue with a huragok was about as productive as shooting yourself in the foot, and decided to run a preflight checklist the old fashion way.

As she climbed into the cockpit of the pelican she Jammed her shotgun into its rack next to her seat. Looking down at the diagnostic switches on the console below her she began to sound them off in her head as she toggled them.

flaps, check, ailerons, check, drag fins, check, cloaking, check, slip space drive, check, Mal and Vaz, not check, where the hell are they?

She looked behind her to see Mal and Vaz approaching at a run, struggling under the weight of all the gear and armor they were carrying.

Both had on large rucksacks and recon ODST armor. Mal cradled a sniper rifle while Vas carried a DMR one handed with the barrel pointed up.

They looked rather comical as they approached, stumbling over themselves as they ran at full speed with entirely to much weight.

"Are you sure you need all that?" Devereux inquired.

"Trust me, if I didn't I'd have given it to Army guy for his mission, I hear his people are great at carrying heavy loads," replied Mal as he entered the Pelican's troop bay.

Both he and Vaz strapped themselves in and shot a thumbs up to Dev. Dev closed the troop bay and fired up the thrusters to propel them into space. As soon as she was clear of the hangar she activated the Pelican's stealth system and gunned it towards the planet.

As she approached the fleet orbiting the planet she decided as long as she had a stealth system, she might as well use it to show off.

She then flipped the pelican 180 degrees and, much to the dismay of Mal and Vaz, flew upside down inches over the hull of one of the rebel ships. She was so close to the ship that, even under all the graffiti the URF had painted all over the hull, she could still read the ships hull markings: FFG-250, _UNSC Masada_.

"Dev you're the ballsiest woman I have ever met, and I don't know if I mean that as a compliment or insult," yelled Mal over the engine noise.

To that she just laughed.

Once the pelican leveled out she shot forward towards the planet, pulling up the nose to slow their descent into X50's atmosphere. As the pelican broke cloud cover Devereaux threw it into VTOL mode and descended slowly into X50's lush jungles.

As soon as she hit 100 feet off the ground she popped open the Pelican's troop bay door and Val and Vaz stood, ready to rush into the jungle. "The URF base is about a two hour fast March from here, nothing you guys can't handle, so long as you don't get lost," teased Dev over the radio.

"Don't worry mom, we'll find our way home," responded Mal in kind.

As the pelican hit the ground he and Vaz dashed into the jungle before dropping into a prone position, aiming their rifles at the edge of the clearing.

"Happy hunting," called Dev over the com before taking off to pick up her next passengers.

* * *

Location: hangar bay, UNSC _Murphy's law,_ in orbit above forerunner installation X50, 09:00 standard military time, January 4, 2558

For as long as Lieutenant Brandon had been working for the UEG government he had always figured it was the most inefficient organization he had ever been apart of, but it only took him a couple minutes of being aboard the _Murphy's law_ to realize that ONI was not like the rest of the UEG.

Before today he had never worked undercover or even thought about it, but the roughly two hours of training he was given while Devereaux was dropping off Mal and Vaz made him almost feel like an old pro.

As soon as Mal, Dev, and Vaz stormed out of the room Osman had began to fill him in on the basics of his cover story. Both he and Alison were going undercover on the planet Taurus VI. The planet was of strategic importance to the rebels because it was the site of a captured UNSC orbital refit facility that's served as the main repair facility for all URF ships. Their job was to pose as UNSC Army deserters that used to work shipping and receiving and infiltrate a URF sympathetic town on the surface of the planet with the intention of being recruited by the URF to manage the supply condors going to and from the fleet above X50 and from there, infiltrate the fleet.

Alison tried to ask multiple times if Osman truly believed either of them were ready for the mission, and was stonewalled both times.

BB 3d printed fake id's for the both of them, both under their real names with Alison now bearing the last name of Lawson. They were supposed to pretend these were their fake names and never mention their "real" ones.

The whole prospect confused the hell out of Brandon.

When he asked why so much of the cover information Osman had given them was real she responded, "it's easier to tell a lie based on the truth, than to tell a lie flat out." Brandon figured that if anyone there was an expert on lying, it was her, and he took her word for it.

After she had filled in the details of their cover stories she began to give them things that deserters on the run would have. She handed each of them ancient MOLLE 2 backpacks filled with food, cash, fake passports, older model M6G handguns, ammo, and anything else they might have pilfered from the UNSC as they left. She then handed them two OD green jackets to replace their standard camo ones and sprayed their pants down with some kind of solvent to fade them.

After the transformation both he and Alison looked like the raggedy ass deserters their cover stories made them out to be.

They ran into the hangar carrying their backpacks and fake id's as Devereaux arrived and guided the pelican into the hangar.

She lowered bogof's troop bay door and they both dashed into the pelican and secured themselves for flight.

"Take us out of here Devereaux," he said.

"Yes sir army guy sir!" Responded Devereaux sarcastically as she gunned the Pelicans engines and lifted out of the hangar.

Brandon looked across the pelican at Alison and smiled apologetically. She did not smile back.

Her face bore an expression, which he counted as a step in the right direction, even if that expression clearly read _you better do something big if you want me to forget that_.

He promised himself once again that he would.

As he looked at her he began to realize a possible whole in the plan, there was no way anyone wouldn't take notice of her. Alison was nearly seven feet tall with jet black hair and radiant white skin that looked like it hadn't seen the sun in years, which it probably hadn't considering the amount of time it spent under her armor.

Osman had told them multiple times that maintaining a low profile was their primary objective and infiltrating the URF was secondary, they wouldn't be any closer to completing the mission if they got caught for being to bold.

Brandon really didn't expect Alison's appearance to factor into that plan positively, but as Dev announced that she was spinning up the slipspace drive to jump Brandon realized concerns like these would only rattle him, and that he should focus on completing the mission anyway.

It only felt like they had been in slip space for a brief moment before they dropped out. As their small craft came back into normal space an intense light of reappearing stars shown through the Pelican's front window and it's entire frame shook violently. They were incredibly close to Taurus VI, maybe 600 miles at the most. Brandon got up to look out the cockpit viewport and saw the refit station Osman had been talking about. They were way to close to it for any normal ship to avoid detection.

Had _Bogof_ not had the caliber of cloaking technology that it did they would have been spotted within seconds of coming out of slip space, no sensors needed.

As if on cue as soon as Brandon stood up Devereaux initiated a roll maneuver to bring the pelican off a collision course with the station.

The roll ended up throwing Brandon onto the ceiling of the pelican and back to the floor. Dev burst out laughing as soon as she heard him hit the ground and Alison, and extended a hand to help him to his feet.

"very funny Devereaux," he called out to the cockpit, before quickly strapping himself back into his seat to avoid a similar incident.

As the pelican approached the planet's upper atmosphere Devereaux activated the Pelican's autopilot and programmed it to guide it to a clearing in some woods a mile west of the town they were intending to infiltrate.

The pelican hit the ground in the middle of the clearing and Alison and Brandon dashed out of the troop bay, drawing their pistols as they did and aiming them at the edge of the clearing. Once they were sure no one was around Devereaux came rushing out of the pelican, shotgun in hand.

"The town you're infiltrating is about a mile west of here," she yelled over the wine of bogof's engines, "proceed about that far as the crow flies and you should end up on a hill overlooking the town. Good luck."

The door closed automatically behind her as she ran back into the pelican and took off, leaving Brandon and Alison standing in the clearing.

Without a word both of them holstered their pistols and began walking towards the west marker on an old fashion compass Osman had given to them.

"If we walk at a standard pace we should reach the town in about a half hour," spoke up Alison when they exited the clearing into the trees.

Brandon began to see how difficult to navigate the pine forest in front of them was going to be and began to wonder how Vaz and Mal were dealing with their own set of challenges.

* * *

Location: forerunner installation X50, Dratheus system, 09:45 standard military time, January 4, 2558

"I think I might have over glorified the old days," said Mal as he tried to pull his boot clad foot out of a huge mud hole.

X50's surface consisted of dense tropical jungle and, unfortunately, everything that that entailed. The alien flora and fauna of the planet were quite unlike anything he had ever seen before, bright florescent trees dotted the landscape and dusty ground gave way to nearly invisible patches of mud created by underground aquifers that backed up to the surface.

Vaz didn't appear to be faring any better, his entire rifle was tangled in thick, florescent, and thorny vines that seemed to hang from every tree on the planet.

"We're only about a minute out from the URF base, maybe they'll have been courteous enough to have cleared out the vines around the place," he said as he pulled his DMR free and subsequently kicked the tree in frustration.

When they finally reached the edge of the woods Vaz held up his hand in a fist signaling Mal to stop. Directly in front of them was the URF base.

The area around the base was devoid of trees for 300 meters in all directions, the base was surrounded by a chain link fence and had a prefabricated watch tower at each corner. From their current position they couldn't see the base from the top down but Mal could still spot an aircraft control tower, an ammo dump and a motor pool positioned near the outside edge of the base.

"Looks like quite the operation," said Mal over the radio. "Yeah," said Vaz "see any place we could get a birds eye view of the place from?"

Mal pointed to a cliff on the other side of the base. Vaz nodded silently and slowly retreated into the woods.

When they Finally reached the cliff they both dropped onto their stomaches and crawled up to the edge of the hill. Mal removed his sniper rifle from it's sling and set it down in front of him while Vaz shouldered his DMR to act as a spotter.

With a top down view of the base it became apparent exactly how complex of an operation the URF was running. From what Mal could see there was at least ten buildings inside the compound. As he zoomed in to try to identify the buildings he spotted an armory, two barracks, a motor pool, and a recreational area in addition to several landing pads big enough to accommodate Pelicans and a full size runway opposite a hangar containing a longsword strike fighter.

"Impressive collection of Hardware," commented Mal, "what do you suppose we do about it."

"Nothing," responded Vaz, bringing his hand to the barrel of Mal's rifle to keep him from firing, "our primary directive is to observe and find out what the hells going on here. shooting up the place won't help that along."

Mal reluctantly removed his finger from the trigger of his rifle, switched on his armor's cooling system and settled in for a long waiting game.

They waited for about 4 hours before Vaz finally spoke up, "I'm gonna check in with Osman." As he reached to his helmet to activate his radio all hell broke loose in the base bellow them.

Both of them jumped nearly a foot as the bases alarm went off and all of a sudden the base was alive with activity. At least fifty URF personnel made a run from the barracks to the bases front gate and began to occupy sandbag barricades positioned just inside the fence, a team of pilots and aircrews ran out to the base's Tarmac to start up a pelican drop-ship and taxi the strike fighter out of the hangar. About a minute went by before a convoy of three warthogs came rushing out of a path cut through the jungle.

In the middle of the convoy was a modified troop transport warthog carrying a large, silver, cylindrical device shaped like a cannon barrel with strips of blue lights running down either side of it. It didn't look Covenant and it sure as hell wasn't UNSC.

"Second approaching warthog," came the call out from Mal, "what's it's carrying?"

"Must be that forerunner technology Osman was talking about," said Vaz.

The three warthogs entered the compound and didn't slow down a bit. they went full speed straight for a waiting pelican on the Tarmac and practically threw the device into it's cargo bay.

As soon as it was strapped in the pelican lifted straight off into the air followed by the longsword fighter escort.

Once the pelican was off the ground and out of sight the warthog convoy raced immediately back out the gate and back into the woods, and just like that, the alarm deactivated the entire base returned to relative normal.

"I don't know what the hell just happened down there, but Osman has to know about it" stated Vaz before reaching to his helmet to open communications with the _Murphy's law_.

"Ground team to actual," said Vaz over the radio.

"This is actual, we read you five by five, what's the situation?" came Osman's immediate reply.

"A URF convoy just pulled into the base with some kind of forerunner device, we tried to get a better look at it but they loaded it into a pelican and legged it, please advise BB to get eyes on it before it gets away, over," said Vaz.

"I've found your pelican, I'm scanning it now," called BB over the radio, "scan complete, oh dear, I recognize this particular device."

"What is it BB? Is it a weapon?" Inquired Mal.

"See for yourself," said BB before he sent an image to their HUD's.

The image showed a similar device, welded to the hull of a frigate marked UNSC Preston J Cole in place of the ship's Mac cannon. The UNSC symbol on the ship was painted over with a URF logo.

"I noticed this modification earlier when I scanned the URF's fleet, I took note of it but didn't think anything of it, but after cross referencing it with Doctor Phillips's observations of forerunner technology on sangheilios, I don't see why I didn't see the similarities before. It looks like what ever it is the URF appears to have deemed it important enough to forgo the frigate's main armament to accommodate it."

"Copy that BB, please advise as to how we should proceed," asked Vaz.

"Dig in," came Osman's response, "and report any more forerunner technology you see, Osman out." The radio cut out and the two marines were left right back where they had started.

"So what's the plan?" Asked Mal as Vaz got off the radio. "We sit here and hope that Army guy and Alison find out what that thing was. "I'll take first watch," said Vaz before settling in for a long waiting game.

* * *

Innies - insurrectionists

URF - United rebel front


	4. Chapter 4: Just Getting Started

**"Improvise, adapt, overcome"**

 **-unofficial Marine Corps motto**

* * *

Location: insurrectionist controlled planet Taurus VI, Taurus system, 14:12 standard military time, January 4th 2558

After after walking for quite a bit longer than Devereaux and predicted. Alison and Brandon approached the edge of the town they were headed for.

They exited the planet's dense pines and came out on the top of a hill over looking the town, the town was definitely not a town like he was expecting to find. It was nestled into a valley surrounded on all sides by trees with two roads leading in opposite directions out of the town, both of which were paved. The town itself looked like a pretty upstanding rural community, just looking at it Brandon saw what looked like a car dealership, a farmers co-op, a gas station, a general store, a motel and several other businesses he didn't expect to find in URF controlled town. In fact, the only thing that really distinguished the town from any in rural areas of the URNA, where he had grown up, was the bar, the arms market, and a landing pad that contained a pelican with URF markings.

UNSC propaganda definitely didn't talk about places like this existing in rebel controlled space.

They descended the hill into the town and it quickly became apparent just how quiet this town really was. They only spotted two people walking in the street, of which only one gave him a funny look, and no cars. In fact the only activity brandon did see was at the bar, it looked like at least half the towns population was situated there.

 _Military towns_ , he thought, _guess it doesn't matter wether it's URF or UNSC, the bar is the basic unit of the town's economy is always the bar._

Despite the sleepiness of the town Alison didn't seem to be comfortable at all. He couldn't tell if the look on her face was disgust or discomfort, but either way she did not seem happy.

Brandon looked over at Alison and motioned in for her to follow him. Walking into the bar caused the sleepy mystique of the town to instantly melt away and transform into a loud, active, and significantly less upstanding environment. The place was packed, loud music was playing over the bars old fashion radio, people lined the bar, loudly toasting to life, health, and happiness. Anybody that wasn't drinking already had and was dancing in an open space of tiled floor in the back of the bar.

If Alison hadn't been uncomfortable before she sure was now.

Brandon walked over to a small table in the corner of the bar and order two beers. Alison sat down across from him and he passed the beer over to her.

She picked up the bottle and examined it like she had never seen anything like it before.

Brandon had to keep himself from laughing.

He took the bottle out of her hand, pulled off the top with an old fashion twenty second century bottle opener and handed it back to her, motioning for her to drink it.

She reluctant took a sip and her gag reflex was instant. It tasted awful, and it took quite a bit of restraint not to spit it out onto the floor.

He instantly felt guilty and ran to get her some water to wash it down with.

As soon as she stopped coughing, she nodded her thanks and drank it down, her face still contorted in clear dislike for the alcohol.

Brandon took a whiff of his beer and decided that although Alison's reaction may have been a bit exaggerated, not drinking it may be better for his health in the long run.

They just sat there for a while, listening to the conversation in the bar, trying to get some information on how they might get a job with the URF. He heard a man next to him talk about his trading with kigyar pirates and a farmer behind him who had lost all of his money when his crops failed last winter. Despite the fact that this place was a military town he heard surprisingly little talk of the URF.

 _I guess nobody likes to think about work after hours around here_ , he thought.

As they sat there Alison started to fidget in her seat a little bit. The crowd seemed to be getting to her. Brandon honestly didn't think the place was quite as packed as it could have been, then again the only crowd this large that Alison was used to dealing with was probably a group of covenant, and they probably weren't around for very long afterward. Hoping to ease Alison's discomfort, Brandon was about to pay and leave. Maybe going into a place like this wasn't the best way t ease someone who wasn't a people person into Intel gathering.

He stood and was met by a clearly drunken man that bumped into him from behind.

"Sorry," Brandon said, in spite of the fact he was the one that had been bumped in to. The man spun around to face him. He was clad in a jeans and a black t shirt with the URF logo emblazoned on the center, and didn't look happy to see the faded UNSC fatigues and green t shirt brandon was wearing.

"Hey, you're UNSC," he said in heavily slurred speech, "we don't like your kind around here."

 _I guess I just found the one thing that could go wrong_ , thought Brandon. He glanced over at Alison. She was already sizing him up as a potential threat. Brandon put out a hand to stop her.

"Not any more, we deserted years ago. I'm sure we're not the only ones here in that same boat," Brandon said calmly.

He once again tried to walk around the man but he moved to block his way, "I don't care. You're all the same you damn imperialists." By now half the bar had turned to look at them.

Alison was becoming very nervous. She glanced around the room wildly. She hated having so many eyes on her, especially when as far as she was concerned those were enemy eyes. She looked behind her only to find more people looking at them. She felt cornered. She glanced frantically at Brandon, who was locked in a debate with the other man, trying to get him to back down.

The man shoved Brandon back a little. "go back to whatever hole you crawled out of," he said in a venomous tone.

Alison got more and more on edge as the man's tone deteriorated. She fought the urge to lash out at anything she perceived as a threat and held her ground.

Hoping to avoid a confrontation Brandon dropped a wad of credits, that would have more than covered their drinks, onto the table and picked up his backpack, "alright then buddy, we're leaving."

The man continued to hurl insults at them as they left but the rest of the bar seemed to have lost interest by then.

Alison seemed a bit jittery. "Do you think we blew our cover?" She asked as soon as they were sufficiently out of earshot. She was still occasionally glancing behind them to see if anyone had followed them.

"No, if we had someone would have said something. Chances are it isn't anything new for that guy to cause trouble and they clearly have seen UNSC deserters before," he said reassuringly.

She didn't look convinced but shrugged it off and kept walking.

Brandon turned down the street they had come from and began to walk up to the top of the hill they had exited the woods on top of. Brandon sat down near the peak of the hill. Alison sat down next to him, her legs hugged to her chest.

While they sat there brandon pulled his laptop from his backpack. The laptop was specially modified by the huragok to communicate with the _Murphy's law_ on a secure channel via text messages sent at faster than light speeds, but it didn't have nearly the same speed as a waypoint call and even at that kind of speed it would still take a while to reach Osman who was a full planetary system away from them. In his message he informed Osman of their current situation, minus the details of possibly having their cover blown.

He glanced over at Alison. She was still huddled in a ball next to him, staring off at the town. Her gaze seemed distant and despite his best attempted to read her he couldn't begin to guess what she was thinking. He thought about saying something, but crushed the idea. She probably didn't appreciate being questioned any way.

He folded up the laptop and stood, "come on. We better find some place to stay for the night."

Alison nodded and followed him off into the town.

They rented a simple room with two beds at a small hotel in town.

Alison walked into the room and sat down slowly on the bed.

As she slowly removed her jacket Brandon began to see the remnants of all that had happened to her over the years. The tank top she wore underneath did little to cover the extent of the numerous injuries she had suffered. Her body was a gridlock of angry scars. Some surgical and precise, undoubtably left over from whatever process they had used to turn her into a super soldier. Whatever parts of her body weren't covered in scars were covered in the remains of second and third degree plasma burns. If cancer hadn't been cured back in the twenty second century he was sure exposure to that much plasma would have killed her long ago. It only served to make him feel worse about how he had treated her.

She ran her hand slowly over the sheets before pausing and staring at the wall. She still looked very uncomfortable and Brandon couldn't see why. As far as he could tell this was set up to be a fairly relaxing ordeal.

He sat down next to her, much to her chagrin.

"Alright, what's wrong," he said matter of factly. She didn't even turn to face him.

"Nothing's wrong," she said flatly.

Brandon sighed, "come on Alison, you've looked incredibly uncomfortable all day. I know we didn't get off to the best start but I'm your teammate now. You can tell me."

"fine," she said begrudgingly, "I just don't know how I'm going to handle the whole being a civilian thing."

"Relaxing for once can't be all that bad. It's gotta be like being a kid again for you."

His light hearted tone was crushed by the glare she shot him.

"Don't pretend to know what's best for me and don't you dare pretend to know how I grew up," she spat.

Brandon was surprised by her sudden combativeness. Until now she had been unwilling to talk, but had never reacted offensively anything he had said.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to imply that," he said earnestly.

She sighed and looked out the rooms small window before running her hand over the sheets one last time. She seemed almost sickened at the feeling of them.

"I should be fighting," she suddenly spoke up, "not stuck on some two bit intelligence op. Spartans fight and die every day to keep the UNSC going and I don't deserve any better than any of them. So why am I stuck in a comfortable room in the middle of no where when I could be helping them? All I know how to do is fight. My every instinct screamed at me to fight that guy back at the bar. Fighting is what I train for and it's what I should be doing. It's what my team would have wanted me to do."

Brandon recognized a lot of himself on the way she said that. The same bitter angry why didn't you kill me rhetoric was all to familiar to him.

"I take it you lost people too," Brandon said.

"Yeah, everyone. Why do you care. You seem to think I have it easy."

He began to examine everything he had told her back on the Murphy's law now that he knew this. She probably thought of him as the most insensitive person she had ever met.

"I'm sorry for how I treated you and I want to make that up to you, but trust me, I know from experience that you can't blame yourself for their deaths, and being uncomfortable or dead won't bring them back. I know I sound like a hypocrite, and I probably am, but I know these things."

The words rang hollow to him and he was sure she felt the same way. Both of them had heard that same sentence time and time again. It never ended up helping any more than the last time.

"How can you say that?" she asked in disgust, "you weren't there to see them die. How could you know it wasn't my fault."

"Because I'm the leading expert on survivor's guilt."

Alison didn't appreciate the joke.

"Look Alison, death happens. It's unfortunate but you can't let it rule your life or you'll end up like me. Now how about we make a deal. I'll try and move on from my team's deaths if you try and move on from yours. Maybe the I won't be a hypocrite anymore."

She sighed, "it's not that easy Lieutenant."

"Trust me I know," he said somberly. He placed a caring hand on her shoulder, "Adapting to new things is never easy. That's why we're doing it together."

Alison looked him in the eye.

"you promise?" The way she said it was almost laughably innocent.

"I promise," he said in return.

He gave her a small smile which she didn't return.

"Alright Lieutenant, I promise as well."

He nodded and moved back to his bed to lay down.

"Get some rest spartan, you're gonna need it,"

Alison nodded and laid down rigidly straight in her bed, almost as if she was trying to lay at attention. The bed may have been top of the line civilian comfort, but to her it still felt like a bed of nails. No armor, no hum of an FTL drive, no clear cut and dry orders. She found herself thinking back to all the any nights her and her team had spent aboard various starships during the war, longing for the comforts the marines complained about having to leave behind when they signed on, comforts she had never even seen or experienced. Now that she had them she would give anything to be back with her team, back in cramped discomfort of a warship.

She glanced over to the lieutenant. He didn't seem perfectly at ease either, but he seemed to have a much better grip on this way of life than she did. She thought back to their conversation on the _Murphy's law_ , how he had lashed out at her so viciously over the deaths of his friends. Was that really what she had almost just done? Maybe he knew what she was going through. Maybe he understood more than she had guessed he did.

One thing she had learned in her years of being a Spartan was that normal people wore their emotions in neon, and he really felt bad about what he had said to her.

She decided that if the Lieutenant was willing to give Spartans a second chance she could give him a second chance as well. Maybe he was the way out of the spiral of grief she had thrown herself into.

It was still a while before she became comfortable and relaxed, but eventually She closed her eyes and began to drift off to sleep.

* * *

URNA- United repulic of north America. Comprised of what once was Mexico, the USA, and Canada.


	5. Chapter 5: Requires Adjustment

An: Hi all, I recently rewrote basically this entire story. Most of the major plot points are intact, but not all. If you've already read the first four chapters I'd advise you reread it or atleast give it cursor glance so you're not as fuzzy on the details. For those following, sorry for the long delay between updates, becoming a writer the do it yourself way has been fairly difficult, and I wouldn't have it any other way. Special thanks to Seventy Four Mudkips and jaeger gypsy danger for all the help and encouragement, and thank you to all the rest of you for taking time out of your to read this, it means a helluva lot. Please, please review. I can't stand writing and not knowing how people feel about it. Even if all you have to say is "it sucks," or "it's great," I still apreciate it. enjoy.

* * *

 **"A great love is a lot like a good memory. When it's there, and you know it's there, but it's just out of your reach, it can be all you think about. You can focus on it and try to force it, but the more you do the more you seem to push it away, but if you're pacient and you hold still, maybe, just maybe, it'll come to you."**

 **Pvt. Leonard Church (Alpha)**

* * *

Location: insurrectionist controlled planet Taurus VI, Taurus system, 07:35 standard military time, January 5th 2558

Brandon and Alison woke to the sound of loud repetitive knocking on their room's front door.

"URF police, open up, we have some questions for you," came the call from behind the door.

Alison grabbed her handgun lightning fast and had it trained on the door before Brandon could say a word. Brandon rushed over to block her fire.

"It's ok Alison, it's just the police. Unless you catch them on a bad day shooting at them isn't generally a good idea."

Alison didn't back down for a second.

"What do they want?"

"Hell if I know, but we'll be fine, I promise."

Her expression softened if only slightly. She nodded and reluctantly hid it under the mattress.

Brandon walked over to the door and pulled it open, standing behind it was a URF police officer whose rank patch marked him as a captain. He was outfitted in military gear and flanked on either side by two additional officers. All of them were wearing Marine Corps and Army surplus plate carriers fitted with raid patches that read POLICE in large block letters. The two officers that flanked the captain both wore marine corps issue helmets painted black and carried shotguns while the captain wore a simple operator style base ball hat with a URF flag Velcroed to the front of it and had an M6 series pistol strapped to his right thigh. Between his buzz cut hair and his five o'clock shadow he looked more like an off duty marine than a police officer, then again on most URF colonies the military and the police were the same entity, this was probably how every officer in the town dressed.

"Sorry to intrude on you all, I'm Captain Lassiter, I run this town's security force. I have some questions to ask you," he said, honestly sounding apologetic for waking them. It wasn't what he had expected from a URF cop, but Brandon wasn't about to complain. Lassiter stretched out his hand and Brandon shook it.

"David Brandon, I don't run anything anymore," he responded.

Alison finally decided the area was clear enough and moved forward to stand next to Brandon in the door frame. She still wasn't wearing a jacket and one of the officers with shotguns gaped at the burns and scars that covered her body. She shot him a, _what are you looking at_ , look that shut his mouth instantly.

"And your name is?" asked Lassiter as he held out his hand for Allison to shake.

"Alison," she replied tersely before shaking his hand.

"Alison what?"

"Just Alison."

Lassiter decided it wasn't worth his time getting an answer out of her and dropped it.

"Look if you're here to talk to us about what that guy said about us being UNSC at the bar last night I'm sorry. I was under the impression you had an open arms policy with deserters."

"That policy still stands David so long as you registered properly, which I'll assume you did or there's no way in hell you got onto this world undetected. We did hear about what was said at the bar last night. That leads me into the real reason we're here. We want to offer you a job."

Brandon looked over at Alison and she nodded, this was the job they had been sent here to get.

"A job?" Responded Brandon as quizzically as he could manage. He didn't want to be two obvious about his intentions for fear of making Lassiter suspicious, "why would you want to give us a job?"

"Come on David, your obviously veteran military," he said, gesturing to how they were dressed, "It's harder to find competent fighters out on these parts than you would guess."

Brandon feigned a chuckle. "Find someone else. We just got out of the last job a military offered us and we're planning to keep it that way for a while at least. Besides we're both POGs. Do you really need a bunch of logistics experts?"

That peaked Lassiter's interest.

"Come on David, at least hear my offer."

He feigned an exasperated sigh and motioned for Lassiter to come inside and sit. The two other officers stayed outside the door while Lassiter entered and sat down on the couch as Brandon and Alison sat down on the bed across from him.

"First may I ask why you left the UNSC?"

Brandon looked at her as of wondering if she would want to tell him. A question he already knew the answer to. She shook her head and he proceeded.

"Me and her were working shipping and receiving for the army on Reach back in 2552 when the place was glassed. When the order went out to evacuate all high value personnel from the planet's surface before the covenant glassed the place, we weren't deemed high value personnel and were left on the planet to die. We only escaped the glassing because we hot wired a civilian ship and legged it the hell out of the there. It was that day we decided we were done with the UNSC."

That lie was based mainly in truth. He had been on Reach when the planet was glassed, he had been left to die although it was by his own choice and was done in order to make room for more civilians to fit aboard the Army evac shuttle. He had even been taken off planet by a civilian ship although the ship had been routed to him by Army evacuation dispatch. He thought it was a fabrication of the truth Osman would be proud of.

"Typical," scoffed Lassiter, "I had a buddy of mine who had similar shit pulled on him on Coral. Any way you made the right choice, the URF is the way to go."

"Who said we joined the URF? If you have an offer for us, make it," responded Brandon.

"Well, the offer is this. That space station in orbit above this planet is the supply hub for our forces in and around this area. Condors leave from that station hourly to go and resupply various important installations of ours. Those condors carry very valuable equipment; weapons, ammo, food, and pay roll money to name a few. We've been looking to recruit competent fighters to ride alongside the ship's cargo and protect it from any would-be pirates or borders, however, despite popular opinion, trained soldiers are hard to come by in this neck of the woods, and ones with logistics experience are even less common. Our proposition is simple, if you enlist as reservists and agree to accompany 40 shipments a month we'll give you each a standard enlisted man's wage paid in cash each month, no questions asked."

Brandon sat there for a moment, pretending to mull it over. This Captain Lassiter had just inadvertently handed him his ticket to infiltrating the URF and he planned to take full advantage of it. This was almost to easy.

"Ok, we're in."

Lassiter reached out his hand and Brandon shook it, followed by Alison.

"Some guys from the station will be at the airfield at 07:00 tomorrow with a pelican to pick you up and take you to the refit station for some on the job training, see you then."

Lassiter turned around and walked out the door, followed by the other two officers. Alison let out a long breath as the door closed behind them. She relaxed the white knuckle fists she had curled her hands in to and stopped looking over at her handgun compulsively. She had been certain she would have to fight her way out of that one.

 _Damn, being this close to the enemy is going to take some getting used to._

"Are you going to be ok?" Brandon asked after a moment.

"I'm fine," she responded without hesitation. She paused moment and let out a breath.

"Just a little surprised is all." Alison intended the comment as an olive branch. Generally she would have never elaborated on her disposition with just anyone. Wether Brandon took it that way or not, she couldn't tell.

"If you're sure," Brandon said with concern.

She sat back down on her bed and looked out the window at the town. She still wasn't so sure how she was taking the idea of being undercover. She couldn't imagine how people could possibly do this on a regular basis. Staying around so many people she knew were the enemy made her incredibly nervous. Sure, she had one recon before, but this was different. When she had conducted recon she was completely hidden, and the enemy didn't know she was a threat until she had already killed them. Here she was in plain view of everyone and still had to convince them she was not a threat. She pushed these thoughts out of her head. She had promised herself last night she would give it a chance, and the Lieutenant one as well.

"Lieutenant, I realize I was a bit apprehensive last night being in a place with so many people."

Brandon shrugged, "Don't worry about it. It's mostly my fault for bringing you to a place like that. You don't seem like you appreciate large crowds. I should have recognized that."

Even if he was a being a little to apologetic, Alison liked this new side of Brandon. Few people had ever been concerned with her own preferences when sending her on ops, and based on his initial reaction to her she had never expected Brandon to be among them.

"I forgive you Lieutenant, you were just trying to do your job."

Brandon frowned, "I know, but I always manage to screw it up anyway don't I. If you want to stay here today that's fine. It might be an easier adjustment for you, and we'll have plenty of time to look around town soon enough."

Alison looked out the window once again. She wasn't sure why she was so afraid of this place. It was just a town, most towns she had been to had been made living hell by the covenant long before she ever showed up. Between the dozens of small shops and peaceful looking people milling about she knew she should find this place relaxing, but she still couldn't help but see the enemy in all of them.

"I'd like that lieutenant," she finally said.

Brandon nodded and picked up his backpack, heading for the door.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm gonna se what kind of food they have around here. I've been star side way to long, regular food sounds great right now. You want anything?"

Alison shrugged. She wasn't sure she had ever eaten anything that qualified as civilian food.

"Oh well, your loss," said Brandon as he left.

Alison curled her knees back up to her chest and looked out the window once again. Watching the town was almost a surreal experience. Peace, quiet, all things she rarely had an opportunity to enjoy. She reached over and cracked the window slightly, allowing a hint of fresh air into the room. She inhaled a breath of it through her nose and still couldn't believe how good it smelled. Having unfiltered air in their lungs was something way to many people took for granted. Between the time she spent in her armor and on warships she rarely got to taste fresh air, if at all. It smelled sweet, and was just a tad bit more humid than the dry, stale air of UNSC ships. Despite her best effort to keep her eyes open just the feeling of the cool breeze and the sent of the fresh air made her feel like she wanted to fall asleep. It made her forget about the dozens of people on the street below that would want her head if they knew who she was, and really the fact that she was on a mission at all.

 _God, a spartan enjoying the breeze. CPO Mendez is probably rolling in his grave, if he's dead that is._

Her peace and quiet was shattered as Brandon stumbled into the room with a bag full of food.

He smiled at her and set the bag down on a table, "enjoying yourself?"

"I was."

"Oh, sorry," said Brandon with an apologetic grin. He reached into the bag and pulled out a small package wrapped in tinfoil.

"Here, maybe this'll cheer you up," he said as he handed her the package.

She took it from him and slowly pulled back the wrapper, pulling out a bar of chocolate.

She looked at him quizzically, "what's this supposed to be?"

"Nothing, I didn't know what you would like to eat so I figured chocolate would cheer you up. If you don't like it I've got other stuff."

She nodded and looked down at the bar. To the best of her knowledge she had never had chocolate. It wasn't something the UNSC tended to ration out to Spartans, probably because it wasn't the best thing to put in your body if you wanted to be alert in battle. She set it down next to her and continued to look out the window.

"Oh come on, try it," persisted Brandon, "it won't kill you, I promise."

 _Very reassuring_ , she thought.

"Fine," she reached down and picked up the chocolate bar, taking a small bite out of the top.

The instant she bit into it it was like a flood of memories came back to her. She couldn't make a mental image of what they were, but they were probably from before she joined the Spartan program. Whatever they were they felt pleasant, comforting, reassuring. She had definitely had chocolate before. She ate the bar as quickly as possible, hoping the memories would stay, maybe she could decipher them, but they didn't stay for long. She looked down disappointedly at the empty wrapper in her hand. She had heard of other Spartans having reactions like that, small things that caused them to remember life before the program, she never expected it would happen to her, much less did she expect she would enjoy it.

Brandon smiled at her, "see, I told you you would like it."

She didn't answer him, instead she tried to concentrate on the memories. Maybe she could remember a face, a planet, her last name, anything. It was no use, she couldn't remember anything but the ancient feeling. It was a feeling of warmth and happiness and a care free existence, something she hadn't felt any time she could remember.

"Hey, you ok?" Asked Brandon.

Alison abruptly snapped back to reality as she heard Brandon speak

"I'm fine, I just, uh, just remembered something." There was a little more excitement in her voice than she remembered and for some reason she couldn't help but smile.

Brandon smiled back, "must have been something good."

"you have no idea."

She took another deep breath through her nose and took in the sweet smelling air. Combine with the memories she had just felt it made her forget all about the unfamiliarity of the planet and her proximity to the enemy, in fact, this planet actually seemed pleasant right about now.

"Mind if I sit with you?"

She shrugged, and moved over to make room for him.

"You know I grew up in a place like this."

Alison raised an eyebrow, "really?"

"Yeah, not as exciting as you would imagine," he said with a small laugh, "but I kinda liked it that way."

"Oh really, considering how much you talk I find that hard to believe."

He laughed, "well I guess I wasn't always this talkative. What about you, where did you grow up?"

"Reach," Alison answered reflexively.

It wasn't a complete lie. With as much time as she spent training there she might has well have grown up on Reach.

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"Don't be, I barely remember it anyway."

"Well, for what it's worth I liked visiting Reach, even went to school there. Before the war and all It really was a beautiful place."

"Even considering what happened there?"

Brandon sighed, "yeah. I try not to let that spoil what it used to be like. It was incredibly beautiful. Actually it looked quite a lot like this place."

She sighed, "I wish I could remember all that."

Truth be told she could, but it didn't seem to come back to her the same as it did to Brandon. For her Reach had been freezing cold in the winter and scorching hot in the summer. It served no purpose but to put her through living hell and train her to be the protector of

Earth and all her colonies. If Reach ever had been anything like this it was well beyond her memory of the place. For her it had been the same before and after the glassing, but then again that wasn't were she had grown up for real. The memories from the bar of chocolate had made her certain of that. Somewhere, she had a family, assuming they weren't dead. It would be her luck if they were.

"Lieutenant, could you tell me about your family?"

"What do you want to know about them?"

Alison shrugged, "I don't know. I just want to know what they're like."

"You may not want to know."

"I do," she insisted.

He let out a long breath, "Well, I don't know most of my family. Like I said I grew up in a place like this. I rarely left town, which meant I was pretty isolated from my extended family. My mom worked for a car company and my dad didn't do much working at all. My dad hung around the house, drank, and bitched about anything you could think of, and when my mom got home that just intensified. I had a sister but she just seemed completely oblivious that any of this was going on. The first chance I got I left that damn place, went to Reach for college, joined the Army, and never looked back."

This wasn't the image of a family Alison had always imagined. She thought of the other Spartans as her family, her brothers and sisters in arms. They watched each others backs and looked out for each other on and off the battlefield and had made her feel welcome and secure, but if this was what a real family was like than it honestly sounded horrible

"Did your family care about you Lieutenant?"

He sighed, "I'd like to think my mom cared about me, but she rarely said more than a couple words to me and loved to make fun of me. My dad didn't give a rats ass about me, he's probably the reason I wanted to leave the most, and if my sister cared about me I honestly wouldn't be able to tell you. Look, I shouldn't be talking about this. I got over this years ago and you've heard enough of my problems anyway."

"No, I want to hear about this."

"You do?" Said Brandon with more than a little bewilderment.

Alison tried to make her response as minimally confusing as possible.

"Well, when you gave me that chocolate, it's gonna sound crazy but it made me remember something from when I was very little."

"Really? What was it?"

"It was nothing really, just a feeling, a good feeling, an old one, one that had to have come from when I was little, maybe it came from my family. I don't remember anything about my family Lieutenant, not anymore."

"Wait, how do you not remember your family at all?"

Oh great, how was she going to explain this one.

"They died a long time ago Lieutenant, I don't want to talk about it. Anyway, I thought the memory might have been of my family, but if that's what families are like I guess those feelings must have been from something else.""

Brandon nodded, and they sat in silence for a long time.

"Alison, I don't want to bring up a touchy subject, but I just want to say not all families are like mine. I'm sure that your family cared. Most do."

She didn't really believe him, but the comforting thought was nice.

She gave him a small smile, "thanks Brandon."

"No really," he said persistently, "I don't know that I knew anyone who had a family like mine, I'm sure that you had a family that really loved you Alison."

His words were sincere and made Alison feel just a little bit less melancholy.

She gave him another small smile, "you think so?"

"I know so."

Her smile became just a bit wider and she went back to facing the window, once again inhaling and exhaling slowly as the warm air filled her lungs and she remembered the warm feeling the taste of chocolate had given her. She looked briefly over at the Lieutenant before closing her eyes once again. It felt inexplicably good to have him by her side. Normally words didn't do much to console her, but he was better at talking than most people she knew.

She heard the lieutenant stand to leave, but her incredible reflexes allowed her to grab his wrist without even opening her eyes.

"Please stay lieutenant, I like having you here."

Brandon smiled, "of course."

She took another series of deep breaths and looked out the window once again. Maybe this mission wasn't going to be so bad after all.

* * *

Location: URF planet side security office, insurrectionist controlled planet Taurus VI, 08:30 standard military time, January 6th 2558

Captain Lassiter sat at a large wooden desk at his office on Taurus VI's planet security office, filing papers as he always seemed to at this do nothing job. He had had his job down to an almost robotic routine for the last month until today. Today he had had his first chance to get out of his office in a long time and he was glad, not that his office was a shabby place. It was furnished with the best furniture and art he had captured in planetary interdictions, things that he assumed the URF wouldn't miss if they didn't show up on his after action report, But no matter how nicely furnished his office was he still found himself going stir crazy from the amount of time he usually spent in it, which was why he always liked meeting anyone new who arrived on his planet, especially if they claimed to be former UNSC.

The UNSC wasn't something he harbored any love for, but UNSC deserters were always fun to deal with. He had employed many in his time. They made excellent officers, willing to work long hours for little as long as you promised them a planet that was a haven from the Covenant and the UNSC alike. His job was to make sure the planet remained such a haven by routing out spies and any other dirty individuals the UNSC threw at him, which lead to his job being very boring, and to him spending a lot of time in his office.

Although some planets in URF territory had had entire groups of ONI spies infiltrate them, or found UNSC scout sniper teams sneaking around and watching them, or even found lone spartan IV's stalking around a militia bases, very little ever happened on Taurus IV by way of infiltration, or so it seemed. In fact, very few new people came to Taurus VI at all, and few that did come stayed for more than an hour, which was why when a seemingly seven foot tall woman and raggedy ass looking man, both wearing what appeared to be bits and pieces of old UNSC fatigues, showed up and appeared to plan to stay, it was cause for concern.

They sure as hell looked suspicious, and posing as UNSC deserters was either a dead give away that they were spies or undeniable confirmation that they weren't. He couldn't tell.

He did have a man who could however, officer Daniel Ramirez. There was little about spies or the UNSC didn't know.

As if on cue he heard a single footstep behind him. Daniel rarely allowed anyone to know he was approaching until he was right on top of them.

"What do you think of them sir?"

Lassiter turned to find officer Ramirez standing not two feet behind him. As a former ONI agent turned URF defector Ramirez was a man of many talents, and Lassiter was sure that being able to scare the shit out of anyone at any time was one of his fairly benign qualities. He had probably killed more people than Lassiter cared to think about, and collected more intelligence than any worthless UNSC spy they could throw at them. It made him an extremely cold and efficient man, It was also why he had made him his head of intelligence.

"I can't honestly say. Their alibis seem airtight, then again we haven't really checked them throughly. What have you found out so far?"

"I couldn't tell you anything either. I ran the UNSC database for Army personnel matching the names David Brandon and Alison Lawson. we found at least a dozen matches and several more that could have been made into anagrams of those names, but that was to be expected from an Army as large as the UNSC Army." If Ramirez felt any disappointment about lack of results he didn't show it. Ramirez's face remained as stone cold as one would expect from anyone who had associated with ONI. His demeanor unnerved even Lassiter himself, who was shaken by little.

"It doesn't matter. I've already sent them their first assignments. They'll be escorting supplies from the refit station tomorrow, it'll give us plenty of time to monitor them. We'll figure out who they are and if they're telling us the truth soon enough."

Ramirez nodded and turned to leave, "I have no doubt of that sir. I'll keep you posted"

Ramirez's footfalls were absolutely silent as he left and shut the door behind him.

Lassiter breathed a sigh of relief once he was convinced Ramirez was gone. That guy had always creeped him out. If he wasn't absolutely essential to the running of his department he'd have appointed someone else in his place long ago, and probably killed him just to make sure he didn't pull some ONI shit on him for revenge.

Hopefully Brandon and Alison's story would check out and he wouldn't have to talk to him for a while afterwards.

* * *

Location: UNSC _Murphy's law_ , standoff distance from forerunner installation X50, zero dark thirty standard military time, January 6th, 2558

Admiral Osman sipped her ONI brand coffee as she sat in her chair on the bridge.

It was getting late but she elected to stay awake, but there was still a little more work to do. Mal and Vaz were still on the surface of the innie occupied planet, and they had recently sent her a quick message saying that activity had ramped up at the base they were scoping out.

Osman wanted to see this activity for herself and had had BB project a live feed from Mal's helmet cam onto the bridge's view port. The feed showed a view from Mal's perspective of the enemy base through his sniper rifle's scope. She watched as the base's alarm sounded for the fifth time that day while a warthog dashed for the base's airfield and offloaded yet another cannon barrel shaped piece of forerunner technology that the URF appeared to be massing quite a few of. It was loaded into a pelican and BB tracked it as it traveled to an unmarked civilian freighter ship the innies had either captured or bought. She assumed the former.

Osman knew that the disappearance and reappearance of all of the ships the URF had stolen from under the nose of the UNSC and brought to X50 was some how related to that very piece of technology, and she was going to get to the bottom of it.

"Tell the boys to take a load off," she said to BB.

The monotony of the rebels actions really struck her. Normally they were so disorganized that it was impossible to detect any semblance of a pattern in their activities but as far as Osman could tell this base had been set up by the URF for the sole purpose of loading and transporting what ever those devices were. It made her wonder whether this was a typical rebel op in which the sole purpose of the entire mission was to steal as much as they could and make off with a profit or if a more destructive plan was in play.

"Yes admiral," responded BB, "Also you should know that while you were monitoring Vaz and Mal you received a communique from Spartan 065 and Lieutenant Brandon. It's waiting in your inbox."

"Thank you BB," she said before closing the window displaying Mal's helmet cam and switched to the message from the Lieutenant.

She read the report and was surprised that the URF had contacted him so quickly. She decided it was probably time she broke her strict radio silence and sent them a message about the forerunner technology the rebels were taking from X50. She sent a detailed description of everything they knew about the device along with detailed pictures and strict instructions to figure out what it was ASAP. She closed the window which left nothing on the ship's view port but X50 and Dratheus V floating in the distance. She reached down to the side of her chair and pressed down a button that allowed her to communicate with any crew on the ship directly.

"Devereaux to the bridge."

"Yes sir," came her response and within a minute Devereaux was standing before her on the bridge. She snapped to attention and gave Osman a crisp salute, which she quickly returned.

"What's the plan admiral?" She asked in a very relaxed tone, one that only an ODST could feel comfortable using around her.

"I need you to extract Mal and Vaz from the surface, I have a plan to get some fast Intel out of one of the URF supply ship crews. I'll brief you on return."

Devereaux smirked. "Oh I can't wait to hear this one," she said before saluting once again and dashing off to the hangar bay.

Osman sat for a moment, deep in thought. Despite having barely started two days ago this op was going fairly well all things considered. On Sangheilios it had taken less than two days for Philips to get into trouble, and Naomi had had to be pulled from her op on Venezia only a couple of hours after she had seen her father, but this mission seemed to be taking a better direction. Maybe she was counting her chickens before they hatched, but the fact that none of her crew had come under fire yet put this mission leagues above many other stealth ops she had run in the past.

 _Maybe we'll finally be able to pull off one of these fake deserter ops without a hitch_ , Osman thought as she stared into the blackness of space.


	6. Chapter 6: Sneaking Around

**"The enemy diversion you're ignoring is their main attack."**

 **-excerpt from Murphy's Laws of Combat Operations**

* * *

Hello all! Thanks again for your continued support of my story. For those of you following I'm sorry about the length of time between updates, especially with the last chapter, but I've had a bit of trouble recently, and suffice it to say it was pretty difficult to focus on writing. I promise, however, that I will try my best to keep updating on a regular basis, and that is part of the reason this chapter is so short. I meant to upload a significantly longer one, but that would have taken me a lot longer. It's already mostly written just needs some editing and touching up and it will be ready to publish. More serious plot and Brandon/Alison next chapter. Please review, it helps immensely to hear from you guys. Enjoy!

* * *

Location: insurrectionist controlled planet Taurus VI, Taurus system, 05:30 standard military time, January 6th, 2558

* * *

Alison woke with a start when her alarm went off. She turned to wake Brandon before jumping out of bed and slipping on her clothes and an old fabric holster containing the grossly ill maintained M6G Osman had given her. She dropped to the floor and started doing push ups to bring herself to a more alert state of mind. She had finished almost 200 before Brandon was even out of bed, and he wasn't lazy by any standard.

He opened his laptop at the room's small desk and Alison walked up behind him, looking over his shoulder as he pulled up a communique from the Admiral.

"What's that?" She asked as she pointed to a picture of a steel and blue colored cylindrical object displayed in the middle of the screen.

"Apparently it's some kind of forerunner device that the innies have been pulling off of X50. Osman's not sure what it does, but she wants us to check it out," he responded, zooming in to pan over and examine the image.

She nodded but couldn't help but be a little disappointed. Yesterday had been fantastically relaxing for her, and she wasn't looking forward to it ending anytime soon. She felt a familiar stab of guilt for wanting to neglect her duties, and moved forward.

She looked over to Brandon. Her opinion of him had drastically changed in the past two days. The way he treated her was different from how anyone she had ever known had. It was probably just him trying to make up for chewing her out, but still, it felt odd to have someone be so, cordial to her.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out the chocolate bar wrapper. She had never expected a thing like chocolate could cause such a reaction. The memories it had brought back had been incredible to say the least, and It felt even more odd to be given something without anything expected of her. It didn't line up with how most of her life had worked. Complete a training exercise or you don't get food, don't screw up this drop or you won't have a pod next time, that's how most officers and NCOs had treated her, but here he was, giving her chocolate simply because he wanted her to be happy. For her it was almost as hard to believe as the fact she had woken up well rested for the last two days.

She could almost hear CPO Mendez's voice ringing in her ears, 'a good soldier doesn't care about their own happiness, a good soldier doesn't take handouts, all a good soldier is concerned with is completion of the mission.' She didn't care now. She felt something when she was around him. She didn't know what to call it, but at least it was something.

She smiled at him briefly before walking over to the door to retrieve her back pack. His face seemed to light upon seeing her smile, and she gave her a smile of his own before grabbing his pack and following her out the door.

When they arrived at the airfield across town their pelican was just landing. It set down on the landing pad and the rear door swung open. The Pelican's load master leaned stood and made a revolving motion with his hand, indicating they should run to get onboard.

Both he and Alison ducked their heads as they ran through the Pelican's jet wash and up to the ramp. Alison walked up the slippery ramp with ease and looked back to see Brandon running after her.

He slipped on the ramp and landed on his face, cracking his head against the metal floor of the pelican. His double left foot had returned.

The load master was laughing his ass off rather than helping Brandon, who had clearly been dazed by the impact. Alison was already fully strapped in, so the best she could do was pull him upright into the seat next to her.

The load master was still dying of laughter by time the pelican took off. His name tape read Collins. Alison decided to take note of the name incase she got the opportunity to kick his ass latter.

"You ok?" She asked him.

"Fine, I think," he said before blinking hard to clear his vision. Just in case she preformed a quick check on Brandon to see if he had a concussion, but he appeared to be fine after he got his senses back.

"They recruited you from the UNSC right? Now I see why they got their asses kicked so bad in the war," chuckled the load master, who was still trying to control his laughter.

Brandon was seething with rage, and looked about ready to take his head off for that comment.

Alison placed a gentle hand on his shoulder to restrain him. Brandon was clearly surprised by the gesture, and the anger slowly drained out of him, but the smugness didn't drain out of the loadmaster.

Alison chose to ignore him, and look out the front window of the pelican at the refit station they were approaching, the UNSC _mechanical advantage_.

It looked less like a ship and more like a large slab of titanium with several openings cut in it for ships to dock with. Alison only saw one ship docked on the entire station despite the fact that it could easily hold two dozen. It was a frigate whose UNSC logo was in the process of being painted over by URF graffiti. It must be one of the ships they had seen above X50.

Alison made a mental note of the name, UNSC _Give Me Liberty_.

Brandon calmed down enough to keep himself from killing the man siting across from him, and began asking the pilot some questions.

"So how did you guys get a hold of a refit station and frigate?" Brandon asked him, attempting to seem surprised that such a station was in the URF's possession.

Alison could tell his surprised tone was fabricated, but evidently, the pilot couldn't.

"You'd be surprised what the UNSC left behind when they pulled out of the outer colonies. That station has been floating here since it was ditched in 2531 when they left us to die at the hands of the covenant. As for the frigate, that's on a need to know basis, and you don't need to know."

Brandon nodded. It didn't put them any closer to knowing how the URF had acquired the frigate but it at least reassured Alison that they were getting closer to the truth.

When the pelican pulled into the refit station's hangar the load master stood up and waved them out of the pelican. He slapped Brandon on the back on the way out in an attempt to get him to fall on his face again, causing him to stumble, but he quickly recovered.

Alison shot Collins a look like if she had a weapon she'd make him pay. Oh wait, she did.

She brought her handgun into battery without drawing it and gave him a threatening look.

He quickly decided that messing with a six foot eight armed woman was not a good course of action to take if he wanted to keep his life, and ran quickly up to the cockpit of the pelican, shutting the troop bay door behind him.

 _Goddamn URF,_ she thought as the pelican took off.

Brandon smiled gratefully at her and she gave him a _don't mention it_ thumbs up.

Alison looked across the hangar to the only other craft docked in the hangar, a condor being loaded with supplies, and noticed a familiar face walking out of its cargo bay. It was Captain Lassiter.

"Captain," called Brandon from across the room.

He almost reflexively saluted him, but stopped himself, as he realized the old habit probably didn't fit the character of a deserter turned soldier of fortune. Alison decided to let Brandon do the talking, he seemed a lot better at it anyway.

"Ah, David and Alison, good to see you made it. How was the flight?"

"Your load master is a dick, but other than that it was ok."

"Don't worry about him, he'll stop messing with you when he gets to know you better."

 _Or when I shoot him in the foot_ , thought Alison.

"Besides, I'll be riding with you today. Come aboard, I'm sure you don't need any introduction to this kind of work."

Truth be told, they did. In the short time they had had to fabricate their cover stories neither of them had had any time for logistics training. Luckily it wasn't rocket science, and they were able to figure out the basics of stacking boxes and operating a forklift pretty quickly, dismissing any lack of knowledge they had as part of the fact they had never worked on this model of aircraft before.

Once they had helped load the rest of the supplies they made a short, two hour slipspace jump to a rebel controlled planet Alison didn't recognize somewhere in the outer colonies. The base there was rather small and nondescript, and more importantly, wasn't X50. Brandon discreetly threw down a tiny slipspace beacon near the base, that hopefully would tell Osman it's location, as they helped unload supplies, but it didn't appear that there was any intelligence to be gathered here. Once they had unloaded the supplies, they made a couple more short jumps to various small outposts before heading back to Taurus VI and landing in the refit station's hangar once again.

"We don't have any more runs today that require your assistance," called Lassiter as they exited the condor, "the next pelican out should be here in twenty minutes, see you planet side."

The condor took off into space, leaving brandon and Alison alone in the hangar.

Alison scanned the hangar, making sure that no one was with them. This might be the best chance they would ever get to gather intelligence about what exactly the URF was doing aboard this station.

When she was sure no one was near, Alison motioned for Brandon to follow her, and after cautiously peaking out into the corridor beyond the hangar, took off at a run towards where she figured the frigate they had seen was docked. From what she could tell from the external view she got of the station, the hangar they were located in was two hangars over from the one the where supplies were arriving for the frigate, and considering how large this station was and how little crew it had, sneaking around was child's play.

They wound through a maze of corridors towards the hangar, taking various detours to avoid any voices they heard on the way. Eventually the hallways dead ended into a large, open blast door leading to the hangar. Alison leaned around the corner to look inside while brandon watched their backs.

It was cavernous, easily big enough to fit a cruiser, even though it only held a frigate. It was chocked full of refit supplies for the frigate docked above it; armor plating, fuel, MAC slugs, even a spare slipspace drive, but one particular piece of equipment stuck out at her. In the middle of the room was a large, cylindrical, cannon barrel shaped object covered completely by a tarp, a soft blue glow emanating from the underside of it.

One look and Alison was certain this was one of the devices Brandon had shown her.

Several techs were scattered about the room, all performing various various on the docked frigate, one was even using a Hrunting cyclops armor suit to weld on large chunks of titanium A plate. They were all preoccupied and hopefully wouldn't notice if she and Brandon snuck in for a moment.

She looked at brandon and he nodded, indicating the coast was clear, and they dashed in together, ducking behind the forerunner device. Alison pulled up the tarp and brandon removed a camera from his jacket pocket, quickly snapping pictures of the various glyphs and symbols that covered the object.

When brandon had finished taking pictures, Alison ducked out from behind the tarp and scanned the room. The refit crew was still to busy to notice them and they dashed out of the hangar, taking cover behind the hangars door frame.

Brandon held up the camera and smile triumphantly before stuffing it into his jacket pocket.

Alison nodded and turned to walk back the way they came, only to see a man approaching them in a URF and uniform wearing an MP brassard.

"Hey, this a restricted area!" Called the MP.

 _Shit_ , cursed Alison.

She was about to bring her weapon to bear on him, but Brandon discreetly put a hand out to stop her.

"Sorry, we're new around here, and kinda lost. We were just trying to get acquainted with the place," said Brandon in a calmer voice than Alison could have ever managed.

The MP sighed, "are you the UNSC guys they just picked up?"

Brandon looked at Alison for advice as to what to say. She shrugged.

"Yeah," he said flatly.

The MP just shook his head and murmured something about UNSC stupidity under his breath.

"What was that?" asked Brandon.

"I said get acquainted somewhere else," he shot back instantly, "no one is allowed back here."

Brandon let out a sigh of relief as soon as the he turned his back to them.

The MP led motioned for them to follow him back to the pelican bay. When they arrived back at the hangar the he told them to wait for their pelican here, and locked the door behind himself as he left.

When their pelican finally arrived the load master did not look excited to see Alison. She gave him a threatening look that even made Brandon wonder what she intend to do to him, causing him to run into the cockpit as quickly as possible, leaving them alone in the troop bay.

Alison smirked at Brandon who couldn't help but laugh.

"When did you get so protective of me?"

She shrugged, not really having an answer beyond the fact that she always protected those that were good to her.

He nodded a silent thank you to her as the pelican took off.

* * *

Review!


	7. Chapter 7: Trying New Things

**"** **Never stand when you can sit, never sit when you can lie down, never stay awake when you can sleep."**

 **-unofficial US Army motto and Excerpt from Murphy's Laws of Combat Operations**

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Location, insurrectionist controlled planet taurus IV, 20:15 hours standard military time, January 6th, 2558

* * *

When they arrived at the landing pad it was already getting dark. Alison began to swiftly walk back to the hotel, but Brandon didn't follow her pace. He was walking so slow it looked to Alison that he was almost standing still as he stared absentmindedly at the sky.

She looked at him with a puzzled expression.

"What's the rush?" He asked from well behind her.

"I don't know, it's kind of late, shouldn't we be heading back?"

Brandon looked at the sky again, "no way, it's way to nice of a night for that."

He sat down on a park bench and gestured for Alison to sit next to him. She nodded and took a seat, following Brandon's gaze as he looked to the sky. she cracked a smile for a brief second, not long enough for brandon to notice. It was nice sitting next to brandon. He always seemed to be kind and have a smile for her, and now was no exception.

"So what are we doing exactly?" She asked as he continued to gaze off into the distance.

"Just enjoying the view. You had a great time doing that yesterday, right?"

Brandon evidently couldn't tell she was enjoying this, and she decided to have a bit of fun with him.

She shrugged indifferently and pretended to not even notice the stars, "what view am I supposed to be looking at?"

"The stars! Aren't they beautiful?"

"I see stars from ships all the time, what's different about these?" She said flatly.

She smiled slightly to herself as he struggled to come up with a reason, and eventually found the words to describe what he meant.

"Stars just look different from a planet's surface than they do in space. The way they cast a dim light on the ground and how they seem to hang suspended above you like an incredible chandelier, not like in space where they don't shine quite so brightly and only look vaguely suspended in a void. I think it's beautiful."

She was surprised at his response. He had clearly given this a lot of thought.

She rolled her eyes, "that's very poetic Brandon."

"Maybe it is, and maybe I'm biased too. I guess I've always been fascinated with the stars."

She laughed, "Really? I was told you could go blind staring at lights all your life."

She held up three fingers in the path of his vision, "how many fingers am I holding up?"

"Is that a joke I just heard out of you?" He said in surprise.

She smiled, "I guess it was."

Alison noticed his reaction upon seeing her smile. He seemed almost satisfied with it, as though that was what he had really wanted out of her the whole time. The look he gave her was sweet and kind, and she could have dismissed that as him still trying to be nice to her after bowing up on her back at the cemetery, but this was something else entirely. His features seemed to soften, making him look a lot less battle weary than he normally did. He smiled brightly at her. She couldn't say she had ever seen this kind of gaze directed towards her, but her smile only grew wider because of it, something Brandon was clearly very happy about.

When he realized Alison had noticed him looking at her he snapped back to looking at the stars, and tried to play it off as though nothing had happened, but Alison had seen the look he had given her. Now she just had to figure out what it meant.

"You've got to admit this is nice though," he said, trying to direct the conversation back towards the stars, "It's just like being a kid again. Didn't you ever look at the stars when you were a kid and wonder what was up there, and dream about going there?"

A dark shadow came over her eyes as she thought back to what it had been like to be a kid.

"Let's just say I knew I was going to see those stars in person someday, wether I liked it or not."

"Oh, sorry," said Brandon, his affectionate smile disappearing from his face.

"Don't be, it's not your fault," she said flatly.

Brandon's short sentence carried more meaning than he would ever know. Her childhood hadn't been a happy time. She had had no time to enjoy the stars as other children had. She had been trained as a child soldier, abused, experiment on, and had her life made a living hell. It wasn't Brandon's fault though, and she quickly tried to think of something to say to let him know her sadness wasn't on him.

"You're right though Brandon," she conceded with a sigh, "These stars are beautiful, I just wish I had time for beautiful things."

Brandon looked at her with sad eyes but said nothing. She found it interesting that the lieutenant would care about her having time to enjoy things like stars.

Alison leaned back and looked up at the stars once again. She'd served under officers before that liked to remind her to remember what she was fighting for, what life would be like when the war ended. She always wondered what they had been asking her to remember, as she had never had a chance to experience whatever it was the UNSC had been fighting for. Now the war was over, supposedly, so was this what they had been fighting for? The ability to sit peacefully under the stars and smile for no reason at all? She drew in another deep breath of the planet's clean air and felt the warm night wind brush against her face. If this really was it, then with the way she felt right now, maybe it had all been worth it.

She felt a slight twinge of guilt for feeling that way, considering all the people who had died to defend her few moments of peace, and she was sure that guilt would continue to nag at her all her life, but she didn't care anymore. A few moments of peace was something she had desperately needed after leading a life where death could happen at any moment and the crushing weight of never being good enough to save every last person was enough to make you want to curl up and weep.

Although the she loved the escape from that life, if she was being honest, brandon was the real reason she was enjoying this moment. He didn't talk to her like people always seemed to talk to her, like she was an alien, or a lab experiment. Every non Spartan she had ever served with had always referred to her as Spartan, and nothing else. Not her name, not even her rank, and they always seemed content to question her about things like how she got into the program, what was her training like, what battles had she fought in, and a whole host of other things she didn't want to talk about. The Lieutenant was different. He cared about her, not about her military career, and recognized that she wasn't just a sheet of data with armor and a weapon, she was a human being. His questions still brought painful memories, but they were different, almost like he had lived a life similar to her's, and understood what upset her. It was the reason she liked his dopey smile so much and managed to return one of her own, something she hadn't felt compelled to do in a long time.

"Come on, let's head back," said Brandon, much to her disappointment.

Alison nodded and took one last look at the stars before following him back to the hotel. Brandon took note of the action and smiled.

"If I didn't know any better I'd say you enjoyed that."

She nodded, "I guess I just never took the time to look at the stars that way before."

He shrugged, "Most people don't anymore. Sometimes I think it's the war that took away people's curiosity with space. Nobody really wants to know what's out there anymore, most people think whatever it is is probably worse than what we already found. I guess I respect that, but I figure anything that can go wrong for me already has, so whatever's out there can't be any worse, and I intend not to miss out on whatever it is."

Alison smiled, "Here's to not missing what's right in front of us."

He smiled back at her, "Amen."

* * *

Location: modified unsc pelican dropship bogof, in orbit around forerunner installation X50, 07:00 hours standard military time, January 7th, 2558

* * *

"There is no way in hell this is gonna work," commented Mal as he sat down in the back of the pelican next to Vaz.

The previous day they had been extracted from X50 by Devereaux and brought aboard the _Murphy's law_ just to be informed that while they had been on the planet, admiral Osman had been talking with the ship's huragok and had come up with an even more crazy plan to get Intel out of the URF than posing as deserters. The plan was to follow a URF supply condor into slipspace and dock with it, capturing the crew to interrogate for Intel. She had convinced Adj to instal a cutter into the floor of the pelican that allowed it to cut open and dock with other ships while in slipspace to facilitate the plan.

It all seemed pretty air tight taken at face value, but Mal had never been one to take any plan without at least a little Skepticism. After all, anything that could go wrong, tended to, and by this point he had pretty throughly convinced himself this was the worst idea ever, of all time.

"Suck it up butter cup, you can't chicken out now," yelled Dev as she taxied the pelican out of the hangar and cloaked.

She held her position for a moment and waited for one of the URF's condor's to enter her field of vision. After only a few moments of waiting, one zoomed past and initiated a small slipspace rupture.

Right on time, thought Dev as she gunned the engine to make it through the slipspace rupture without being detected. It was critical that she be in the same section of slipspace as the condor or it would be nearly impossible to navigate the pelican to connect with the condor, and if she missed the small window she had, she wouldn't get another one. The pelican shuddered and its engines wined as it entered the rupture inches behind the condor. Several warning lights went of in the Pelican's cabin, but Devereaux ignored them and opened a com channel to Mal and Vaz.

"You two still with me?"

After a long pause she heard a groan from Mal, "How come every time I fly with you I end up sick."

Dev laughed, "Maybe you should follow the Lieutenant back to the Army, ODSTs are supposed to have sea legs."

That shut him right up.

Dev maneuvered the pelican through the blue void of slipspace and aligned it as best she could with the dorsal side of the enemy condor. The cutter clamped on to the top of the other ship, and sparks began to fly from the circular opening in the Pelican's floor as it sheered a whole through the condor's dorsal section.

Mal and Vaz crouched on opposite sides of the opening, both clutching flash-bang grenades and shotguns loaded with electrified stun rounds.

The rounds contained insulated plastic shells with a capacitor in the center. They attached to their targets with a fast acting adhesive, specifically designed to stick to clothing or flesh, and delivered a 100,000 volt shock to the target, spread out over as much muscle as possible by two additional barbed prongs that fired out of the round shortly after impact. The rounds cost about 100 credits a piece, but they always ensured the target was captured alive.

When the hole was finished being cut, the remaining material of the condor's dorsal section clattered to the deck bellow.

Bullets whizzed through the new opening and ricocheted around the interior of the pelican as the condor's crew attempted to stop the boarding action. Mal and Vaz quickly armed and threw their flash-bangs into the other ship, causing two people to let out screams and fall to the floor.

"Go, go, go," said Vaz, and the two of them dropped into the other craft.

They hit the deck with a loud clang, and Mal spotted the crewman who had let out the scream. It was the pilot. He had been knocked off his feet by the concussive force of the grenade and was slumped against the front bulkhead of the condor.

He reached to pull his pistol but Mal beat him to the draw, putting a round dead center in his chest and shocking him to the point of unconsciousness.

Mal and Vaz scanned the cabin to look for the other crew member of the pelican, and found him slumped over on the floor, appearing to have been knocked out by the force of the fall he had taken. He wore the patch of a UNSC Airforce load master with UNSC colored over in permanent marker, and a name tape that read Collins.

Mal put a shock round into him just to be sure before placing both him and the pilot into restraints and hefting them into Bogof. Once they had secured both the prisoners into their seats Devereaux sealed the cabin and jettisoned the other craft.

"Strap in. I've never done this before," said Devereaux ominously.

"Oh shit, what now?" moaned Vaz.

Dev laughed evilly, "oh yeah, this is the part of the plan I didn't tell you guys about. Because we didn't initiate this slipspace jump we don't know where it was supposed to end, so we have to fall out of slipspace blind. I won't know where we're ending up so if we accidentally come out in the middle of a planet or a star it's not technically my fault."

Both of them were silent for a moment.

"Why do crazy mother fuckers like you always end up in the ODSTs?" Grumbled Mal.

"Remind me to teach you when to stop talking," added Vaz.

The both of them quickly strapped in, and Devereaux powered down the ship's slipspace drive, causing them to abruptly fall back into normal space. The ship shuddered intensely and the deceleration caused Mal and Vaz to lurch wildly in their harnesses.

When the ship finally came to rest Devereaux checked the ship's navigational computer and found they had barely traveled five astronomical units from X50 despite the lengthy amount of time they had been in slipspace.

Slipspace was funny like that. Sometimes it took you a million years to go nowhere and sometimes you we're halfway across the galaxy in the blink of an eye. Devereaux just counted herself lucky she hadn't ended up in the middle of a star.

She left the cockpit to check on Mal and Vaz, and found them with their helmets off, leaning forward in their seats's restraint webbing. Both of them looked like they were going to be sick.

"Solid execute boys, you deserve an ice cream. What do you say we head back _Murphy's law_ and see what these boys know about ONI's favorite unidentified piece of technology?" She asked rhetorically.

"As long as it gets me out of this pelican, I'm ok with it," said Vaz.

Dev sighed loudly, "you two are so ungrateful."


	8. Chapter 8: Calm Before the Storm

**"If you can see the enemy, the enemy can see you,"**

 **-excerpt from Murphy's Laws of Combat operations**

* * *

 **AN: hello all! I've changed the rating on this story from M to T. Honestly, the only reason I rated it M in the first place was because I was new to this site and wasn't sure how the ratings worked, but honestly I'm confident nothing I've writen for this story, up to here and beyond, would be beyond a T rating. I hope you all enjoy this story and please review. It really helps.**

* * *

Location: URF planet side security office, insurrectionist controlled world Taurus VI, 17:00 hours standard military time, January 6th 2558

Captain Lassiter and officer Ramirez stood in front of a large screen that was currently configured as an evidence board. On it were two familiar faces, David Brandon and Alison Lawson, or so they thought.

When they had brought them aboard the refit station yesterday, they had used a scanner to pull information from the data chips in the ID cards they carried with them. The sensors had picked up two ID cards on each of them, one a UNSC military ID and the other a forged civilian ID, pretty standard fare for deserters. The interesting part was the information the IDs had contained.

Brandon checked out mostly. Upon running the serial number they had pulled from his card through a standard UNSC database they had found his story checked out, but Lassiter rarely trusted standard UNSC information. Luckily for him, Ramirez had long ago granted him access to the full UNSC database using some of his old ONI contacts, and allowed him to make regular backups of it so they could check to see if information had been recently modified. In this case, it had paid off.

Brandon's file had been modified approximately two days ago. The file from the backup marked him as a Lieutenant in the Army Airborne, and a veteran of the battle of Reach. He had never worked logistics and had never deserted as far as records showed.

Alison's story was even more strange. When they ran her serial number they came up with a profile that fit her backstory to the letter, except for one discrepancy, until two days ago her file hadn't existed.

Ramirez stood beneath the screen, which displayed a side by side comparison of the their official ID's and the ones from the backup, and scowled.

"Why would they lie to us if they weren't spies? They have no reason to," he said as he continued to swipe through several side by side comparisons of original and modified UNSC information.

Lassiter frowned. "You make a good point."

He was getting antsy. He wanted these UNSC assholes out of his town before they caused any damage.

"I'll get a team together. They'll be gone by tomorrow morning."

Ramirez shook his head. "That's not wise."

"And why not? We can't just let them sit around in our town and collect intelligence. Who knows what they'll have given away by tomorrow?"

Lassiter was already reaching for his compad to call up a team of officers, but Ramirez's hand shot out like a bullet to stop him.

"Lassiter, we need to wait," he said with a dead serious expression.

"And what would we have to gain from that? I can't stand the thought of these bastards having free roam of my town while we sit around and wait for what exactly? What are you afraid of?"

"That woman," said Ramirez, pointing at Alison's picture. His expression was icy, and full of hatred and fear.

Lassiter stopped dead. It was rare that he ever said anything that showed emotion, much less fear.

"The moment I laid eyes on her I knew she was a Spartan."

Lassiter nearly laughed out loud. "A Spartan? Even the UNSC isn't dumb enough to send something that obvious our way. Granted, she's stronger than most, and those scars definite aren't from logistics work, but a Spartan? I don't think so."

Ramirez locked his eyes with Lassiter like a pair of orbital lasers. He was serious, and he wouldn't joke about things like this with Lassiter. He knew about Lassiter's history with Spartans, and the amount of stigma that came attached to them in his mind.

"Captain, if you wish to treat this as a game I won't stop you. You pay me to give you intelligence, not to tell you what to do with it, but if you want to get back at the UNSC for what the Spartans did to you, you will do exactly as I say. These Spartans are very dangerous, and you cannot take their presence lightly. As I remember you had some close contact with Spartans at one point. A team of them was assigned to extract UNSC civilians from Eridanus II, and left you and your family behind. Too bad your family isn't still here today, they died at the hands of the covenant didn't they? That could have all been avoided had those Spartans comes to your aid..."

Lassiter cut off Ramirez by throwing a hard punch strait at his jaw. He saw it coming and ducked, catching Lassiter's fist as he swung.

"Don't you ever speak of my family again!" He barked.

Ramirez smiled. "You're angry. Good. Now use it for something useful, and I've got all the knowledge you need to find that use."

Lassiter stared at Ramirez with an intense glare for another couple seconds. Then dropped his fist and relaxed.

"What kind of knowledge are you talking about?" Inquired Lassiter after a moment.

Ramirez cracked a sly grin. "The woman you are dealing with is Spartan Alison-065, and I know everything about her."

Lassiter raised an eyebrow. "Oh really? How can you be completely sure?"

He shrugged. "I can't, I haven't seen her in many years. I was her instructor when she was first inducted into the spartan program, assign to her by the CPO in charge. I trained her to be the best, and that makes her presence here an immediate threat, and one we need to take care of swiftly."

Lassiter looked at him slightly angrily. "You trained Spartans? Why didn't you tell me?"

Ramirez looked at him scoldingly. "Please Lassiter, don't be so dramatic. You've know I've seen the worst ONI has to offer, the Spartans are certainly part of that."

Lassiter looked at him, no less angry, before finally sighing in defeat. "Fine. I couldn't just go and arrest the both of them anyway. If you're wrong, which you could be as you haven't seen her in thirty something years, and they aren't spies, we could end up scaring away any real UNSC moles before we get a chance to interrogate them. I assume you do have a way to prove she is who you think she is?"

Ramirez nodded and smiled. He reached under his desk and pulled out a locked box. Inside was a Spartan III's helmet.

"This is a relic from my ONI days," he said, placing it in front of Lassiter, "I kept it to remind me of the past, but I don't need it anymore. Take it to the range, shoot it full of holes, make up some tragic story about how we killed a lone spartan III and show it to her, see how she reacts. If Alison has one weakness, it's that she's quick to anger when other soldiers, and especially other Spartans get hurt, and if this woman really is just another deserter like you believe, why would she care if a spartan was killed?"

* * *

Location: insurrectionist controlled planet Taurus VI, Taurus system, 04:00 standard military time, January 7th, 2558

Brandon woke slowly and stretched, yawning slightly before opening his eyes.

Wow, a full night of sleep. How long had it been for him? A month? He rolled over and checked the clock, it was 5AM.

He sighed, guess old habits die hard.

Oh well, at least he had three hours to do nothing. He never expected a military outfit to feel like a nine to five job, but a URF militia sure seemed to pull off that feeling perfectly, and he wasn't necessarily opposed to it.

He turned to face Alison, and paused to look at her for a moment. He was throughly embaresed with himself when the first thought that came to his mind was, _God she is beautiful._

Alison was enlisted, and therefore, his subordinate, even if it seemed so odd to be able to give orders to someone who's physical presence alone gave them more command authority than any battle hardened leader, and he could cite a number reasons why that thought should not have been going through his head, but there it was.

He tried to push that out of his head, as he doubted Alison would appreciate the way he felt for her, but he couldn't.

He almost found it kind of funny, for a number of reasons, chiefly among them, was that he, lieutenant David Brandon, felt anything but hatred for a spartan. He had blamed Spartans for so long for causing the deaths of his teammates, or rather not preventing them, and he guessed it really had taken meeting one to realize that it had never been their fault, and that he had been simply too angry and bitter to see that.

The other thing that was so incredibly out of place about himself was how suddenly he seemed to start tripping over his words around her. He had always been good with words, and sometimes had overused that, talking too much for his good when people simply wanted him to shut up, but around Alison he found it even harder to find the right words to say.

Great, he thought, looks like you've pulled yourself into a story of forbidden love Brandon, great job.

He pulled himself out of his thoughts, and noticed for the first time that while he had been looking at her, Alison had woken up. She looked curiously at him with her crystal blue eyes, clearing wondering why he was looking at her the way he was.

He blushed Crimson red and turned away from her gaze quickly, almost ashamed of himself. He expected her to tell him something to the extent of "don't look at me like that, it's creepy," but instead he saw her smile at him out of the corner of his eye.

"Good morning lieutenant," she said as she sat up and stretched.

He fumbled through his mind, trying to think up something to say and wishing to God the tightness in his chest he felt when he saw her smile would go away.

"Hey Alison, what are you doing up so early?"

"Same as you I imagine," she said flatly, "I don't get much time to relax like this."

He pulled up a chair next to the window and looked out at the brilliant sun rise.

"Care to join me?" She asked with a smile.

He nodded, and and took a moment to make each of them a cup of coffee before pulling up a chair next to her. He sipped it and felt himself slowly become a tad bit more alert. He looked down into the dark liquid, and then forward at the sunrise, and couldn't help but think about how odd this all felt. The war had been over for what? three years now? Yet he still found himself trying to get used to the lack of war with each passing day. Here he was, running an op, and even this was so oddly peaceful.

"What's on your mind Lieutenant?" Asked Alison, probably having picked up on his pensive gaze.

He shrugged. "It's nothing really, it's just, it's nice being here with you."

He nearly slapped himself at how stupid that had sounded. He had always had a double left foot, and now he supposed he could ad his mouth to that.

"No, I mean, it's nice being here, because it's a really nice morning," he stammered, trying to recover from his blunder.

Alison smiled almost knowingly and said nothing, taking another sip of her coffee before turning back to the window.

Brandon sat there in silence for a good long while, kicking himself for having said something stupid like that again.

Jesus Brandon, you can't feel that way about her.

He tried hard to drill that into his head, but it didn't work, not in slightest.

He grabbed his laptop off a nearby table and checked for new messages from the Murphy's law, if for no other reason than to give his mind something to think about. Only one had come through, it was from Osman, detailing how they had captured the crew of a URF condor and we're going to attempt to use them to gain some useful information from them, and it contained only an image of two men in URF uniforms, restrained in pelican crash seats with Mal and Vaz triumphantly holding the ODST flag behind them.

 _ODSTs_ , thought Brandon, _only they could find being taken prisoner by ONI funny._

He looked a bit closer at the two URF soldiers, and found he recognized the both of them. It was the crew that flown them to the station yesterday. He laughed slightly, and Alison glanced over at the screen to see what was so funny. She looked at the message and picture and put it together pretty quickly.

"Guess that loadmaster is getting what he deserved after all," she said with a smile.

He nodded and checked the time. They had to head for the landing pad in couple minutes or risk being late.

"We need to get going," he said, grabbing his backpack off the floor and heading for the door.

He looked back at her and for a moment he could have sworn she looked disappointed, which was odd. Someone as professional as Alison surely wouldn't feel remorse for having to do her job, would she?

Alison stood slowly and stretched, looking out the window only a moment longer.

"I wish I could do this more often," she said absentmindedly. The way she said it made Brandon wonder if she had ever had any time to herself at all.

She grabbed her backpack and followed Brandon to the landing pad quickly. Lassiter was waiting for them when they arrived.

"Sorry but looks like your gonna have ride with me today. The crew that normally does this run jumped into slipspace with a load of cargo and never ended up where they were supposed to take it. We figure they stole it and sold it to the kigyar," he said as they approached.

Brandon thought back to the message Osman sent them and barely managed to stop a smile.

"Gee, that sucks," he said, hopefully successfully hiding his sarcasm.

They arrived at refit station ten minutes latter to find a hangar alive with activity. Three condors where positioned in a row while the cargo onboard was being offloaded. Brandon began to sort through the crates that, unsurprisingly, were loaded down with stolen UNSC weapons and gear.

Alison kept close behind him and observed the mountains of gear that they had acquired. All this stolen gear began to make him wonder who exactly was watching his back and who was going to steal his helmet and sell it to the enemy.

He looked back at Alison. If she was concerned by any of it, she didn't show it. They continued walking past the condors until a crewman in ODST armor repainted to match the Multicam like camouflage of all the URF uniforms approached him.

"Hey UNSC guy. Guess you picked the right side. Get a load of this."

He reached into a nearby crate and pulled out something that brandon never expected to see. It was a spartan III helmet, with a bullet hole directly through the visor.

"We found the bastard reconing one of our outposts. One of our guys saw his active camo shimmer and we opened up on him with an M41. We caught him in the open and he didn't make it a hundred yards before his shields failed. Some special forces they turned out to be. Guess Spartans really do die, huh?"

Brandon turned to look at Alison. She could tell by her piercing glare that she was barely holding back from killing the man in front of her.

"Yeah, good job. We gotta go," said Brandon to the oblivious crew member.

Alison continued to stare at the crew member in front of her, her hand hovering just above her weapon.

Brandon grabbed her arm and motioned for her to follow her to a small room next to the hangar. At one time it had been one of the station's many machine shops before the URF gutted it, and as such was sound proofed to stop noise from spilling over into the rest of the ship.

No one would hear them in here. Brandon figured that was a good thing, as Alison certainly seemed to have some words to say.

"Alison, are you ok?" He asked as soon as they entered.

She shot him a piercing glare. "I'm fine, that Spartan is not. Damnit, how the hell did I end up here? I shouldn't be playing nice with the damn insurrectionist cowards! I should be killing them."

Her hand once again absentmindedly tapped her pistol her eyes looked as though they were going to bore a whole through Brandon's head with a lance of pure anger.

"Alison this isn't the way to get back at them for this," he said, trying to reassure her, "If we shut down whatever they're doing on X50 it'll be a bigger blow to them than shooting up a hangar."

Alison jabbed a finger towards him. "If that was a member of your unit, what would you do?"

Brandon sighed and looked at the ground.

What would I do? He thought in despair.

"Alison, if that was my teammate I'd kill every one of those bastards, but just because that's what I would do doesn't make it right. Wether you know it or not I do know what you're going through right now, so please, take my word for it. Killing them won't help."

Her hand hovered above her holstered pistol for a moment longer, and then fell to her side.

"Fine," she spat, "I'll play nice with killers until the mission is over."

She threw open the door to the hangar and stormed out.

Brandon waited for a moment and watched her walk away. He had done the same thing all to many times, and he knew how awful and helpless a feeling the need for revenge was.

* * *

Location: insurrectionist controlled planet Taurus VI, Taurus system, 04:00 standard military time, January 7th, 2558

Lassiter watched the feed from the hangar security camera as the trooper handed the helmet to the Spartans.

Sure enough Ramirez was dead on. Even through the camera feed he could tell the "Spartan," if that was what she was, was furious. For a second he thought she might actually shoot the man right there. He watched as David, or Lieutenant Brandon as he should be calling him yank the woman into a nearby room, no doubt in an effort to calm her down.

"Well, looks like you were right," he said, flipping off the monitor, "ready to fill me in on the rest of the plan? Because if she is a spartan and you don't want me to kill her, I'm not sure all my men could take her down."

He shrugged, "it's either that, or we let them stay. Your call."

Lassiter looked at him frustratedly. "Or we could just kill her and get it over with. What do you think you'll possibly get out of her anyway? This is a spartan we're talking about, not some scared Army private."

"You won't lay one finger on her," he said, his expression dead serious, "I don't care whether you think she's an asset or not. Her and that lieutenant somehow managed to arrive without any of my contacts in ONI alerting me to their presence, that means that whoever is running this op has incredibly high clearance, and we'll need her to tell us why they're here and how much they've already figured out. You know there is only one reason why ONI would be in this system, and if they figure out about what we're planning on X50, they'll bring the wrath of God on us."

The look Lassiter gave him contained no small amount of mistrust, but he relented.

"Fine, I'll get a team together. Time to see if this Spartan is as good as you think she is."

Ramirez laughed, "for your sake, I hope she isn't."

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 **Ooooh, snap! Look out for next chapter. I've been waiting for a chance to show off how badass Alison is and next chapter should be my chance.**

 **please review. It really helps.**


	9. Chapter 9:Storm

**"The enemy invariably attacks on two occasions:**  
 **when they're ready.**  
 **when you're not."**

 **-excerpt from Murphy's Laws of Combat Operations**

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 **AN: wow guys, hey!**

 **For the few of you who are still following this story, thanks for hanging on, and don't kill me please. I know I haven't done anything with this in a long time, but don't worry, I've got some new chapters cooking up as well as some revision to be made to earlier chapters. I know this had been slow so far, but hopefully this chapter will help the plot line speed up a little.**

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Location: insurrectionist controlled planet Taurus VI, Taurus system, 04:59 standard military time, January 7th, 2558

Neither of them talked for the entire rest of the supply run, or on the way back afterward. When they finally reached their room Alison sat down on the side of her bed and stared blankly at the wall in front of her, completely emotionless.

Brandon wanted to comfort her, but he wasn't sure if she would appreciate it, or if she would feel any better because of it.

He knew how awful a feeling it was to lose someone she cared about. Even the slightest reminder of seeing his unit obliterated with his own eyes was enough to drive him over the edge. He couldn't imagine the trauma Alison must be reliving right now.

He sighed. He may as well try.

He sat down next to her, trying to look her in the eye despite her thousand yard stare.

"Hey, are you feeling ok?" He asked, innocently enough.

She tore her gaze off the wall and glared at him. She looked as though she was a hare's breath away from snapping his head clean off his shoulders, and he would have been lying if he hadn't said he was afraid for his life.

"How do you think I feel?" She spat, before returning to looking at the wall in front of her.

This was going to be harder than he thought.

He racked his brain for some way he could show her, or tell her that he understood the pain she was in, but he knew the mental state she was in. It was an impenetrable fog of guilt and grief that little could pierce, and it saddened him beyond belief.

"Alison, I know you won't believe me, because I've been where you are many times before, but I understand, really, I do."

Her expression softened, if only slightly. That's wants to say that it became forgiving, only that it lost some of its anger, only to have it replaced by sorrow.

"No, you don't," she shot back without even looking at him.

He nodded, conceding that he was not about to pull her out of this state when it was so fresh in her mind.

"I understand. If you ever want to talk about it, I'm willing to listen, I promise," he said, getting ready to stand and leave her in peace, but his comment just seemed to anger her further.

Those few words made the angry fires that had burned a moment ago well up inside her once again. She shot him a trademark glare and barred her teeth.

"Why must you continue to insist you understand me?" She asked, her voice now slightly raised. "Why do you think you can help me? Why can't you simply accept the fact that I am not one of you, and leave me alone?"

Not one of you.

She said that like she didn't even believe herself to be human, like she was some cursed, soulless being, doomed to wander the world. If only she knew that he really do know how she was feeling, more than he would like to think about.

"Alison, don't talk about yourself like that," he said reassuringly, "you're not a broken piece of machinery."

She stood up and looked down at him imposingly. She looked almost ready to hit him, and he flinched, anticipating a punch that never came. Her fist dropped and she let out a pained sigh, her anger now replaced by sadness.

She began to pace back and fourth, clenching and unclenching her fists. The worry and stress was evident on her face, a stark change from a woman who typically showed no emotion other than anger.

He stood and placed a hand on her shoulder, wanting to do something, anything to reassure her. She stopped dead in her tracks, seeming to be completely out of energy, emotionally and physically.

"Alison, I didn't mean to do this to you," he said softly.

She shrugged off his touch and turned to face him.

He expected her to scream at him, maybe even hit him. He wished for a moment she would hit him. He couldn't feel more guilty for the things he had said to her and accused her of when he first met her, and maybe he would feel better if she gave him a black eye and a concussion and got it over with...

But she she did nothing of the sort. Her eyes snapped to a look of intense hurt for a brief moment, and then they were blank. The same kind of blank they had been a few days ago.

"You did nothing to me Lieutenant," she said flatly, "my team is dead and I stupidly never got over it. I need to learn to live with what happened by myself, because like it or not you do not know a thing about where I come from or what happened to me. Now, if you would please leave me alone, I would appreciate it."

Brandon almost shivered at the iciness in her voice.

She hated him, that much he was certain of. He wished he could convince her that he knew what she was going through, but that was impossible. Despite her attempt to convey nothing in her expression, he could see the look in her eyes. It was look of someone who had seen more horror than they would like to repeat.

Hurt like that wasn't healed in a day, sometimes it never was. He knew that first hand. That same look had graced his eyes all too many times, and he had probably just blown any chance of Alison ever talking to him again.

She turned without a word and walked over to the room's small desk, opening her laptop and pulling up ONI's electronic warfare software to monitor local signals, and left Brandon standing there.

Brandon walked over and sat down on his bed, wanting to hit himself as hard as he could for what he had done.

Location: UNSC Murphy's law, standoff distance from forerunner installation X50, 06:30 standard military time, January 6th, 2559

Devereaux sat outside the brig of the Murphy's Law, watching the two prisoners intently.

It had been quite a while now and neither of them had woken up, and although she looked impatient, Devereaux wasn't complaining. They needed data about X50 out of these two men soon. Whatever was going on there was too important to sit around and wait for Brandon and Alison to find something, and when ONI needed data, they were prepared to obtain it by any brutal means necessary, and when Helljumpers were around, brutal means were never in short supply.

Mal and Vaz sat next to her, sparking stun batons and waiting impatiently for one of the crewmen to make up.

Mal looked down at his baton with the closest thing to a saddened expression Dev had ever seen cross his face.

"Poor bastards," he sighed, "you know, I was fine with interrogating spilt-jaws "the ONI way," hell, it was kind of fun, but doing it to these kids is just brutal."

Dev nodded. "The ONI way" of interrogation was something that she was still getting used to even as a Helljumper. It involved a heavy beating, a chemical injection to cause intense pain, repeated electric shocks, or a combination of all three to "loosen up" a prisoner and then send in someone who seemed far less threatening to convince them to talk. Dev was used to battlefield brutality, she had seen enough of it in her life, but doing it to a couple of helpless kids that ended up on the wrong side of a war just didn't sit right with her.

And you know it should be illegal when Mal thinks it inhumane, she mused.

But none of that mattered today. This directive had come from Osman, and when she wanted something done, it happened, one way or another.

In a certain way she respected that. The woman got shit done, but sometimes she wondered if she lost sight of how she had gotten there far too often.

Devereaux heard a noise on one of the monitors, and looked over to see one of the crewmen, the one with the name tape that read "Collins" was waking up.

She tapped Mal on the shoulder, and he nodded, sparking his baton one last time and gesturing for Vaz to follow him into the cell.

"Come on, let's get this over with," he said irritatedly.

Dev watched the video monitor as Collins stirred in his seat then jerked back in horror as he saw the ONI logo emblazoned on the stainless steel table in front of him, and quickly discovered he was restrained.

"Shit," she heard him curse.

He looked up at the two ODST and held up his hands defensively.

"Hey, look, I don't know who you are, but..."

He was cut off by a vicious shock from Mal's baton, not even given a chance to explain himself. Even though Mal looked tough on the outside, now more than ever, Dev knew he wasn't enjoying this. She thought for a moment about ending this right here and now, but she knew that wouldn't get her, or the prisoner anywhere.

Osman would simply send all three of them to the brig and come down here to do it herself.

Dev glanced away as she heard Mal began to bombard him with questions.

"What's your name? What's your rank? What's your serial number? What's that forerunner device you're so fond of? What does it do?"

Between each question she heard a sickening electric shock, and then a yelp of pain. Mal really wasn't giving him a chance to answer any of the questions, that wasn't his job. He was simply supposed to loosen him up so Dev could pick up the pieces.

At least this wouldn't take long. This kind of interrogation could break even the most hardened of individuals in hours, and he was certainly not one of those individuals.

A moment latter the shocks and yelps stopped and Mal and Vaz walked out of the cell quietly.

"He's all your's Dev," said Vaz.

She nodded, and entered the cell to find Collins curled up on the table, his hands still restrained to his chair and a pitiful look of pain across his face.

He flinched as she approached. "Please, don't," he pleaded, holding his zip-cuffed hands in front of himself defensively.

Devereaux didn't say anything. She cut the restraints off his wrists, and instantly he curled the towards himself defensively, tightening his hands into fists. Every neuron in his brain looked like it was firing to defend itself from brutality.

"Stay away from me," he threatened, a look of anger and fear in his eyes.

Dev put on her kindest smile and say down across from him, hoping to put him at ease.

This was the other part of an "ONI style" interrogation. A much kinder looking and acting person would meet with the prisoner between interrogations. They would give him false hope of survival and offer him a way out. Little did the prisoner know that just because an ONI agent looked kind did not mean they could be trusted. In fact, the opposite was almost always true.

"It's ok Collins. My name is Lian Devereaux. I'm with the Office of Naval Intelligence. I'm not going to hurt you. I just need to ask you a few questions."

Smartly, Collins wasn't buying any of it. He recoiled back slightly and seemed to be getting more defensive by the second.

"You're lying," he said, "I'm not telling you anything."

Devereaux sighed. This was going to be harder than she thought.

She shook her head regretfully and frowned slightly. "Well, I can't make you tell me anything, but the Helljumpers can. Would you like that?"

Her voice contained just enough of a threat to get Collins to pay attention. His face went stark white at her comment, and he instantly dropped his hands to the table, panic building in his breathing.

"No, please, don't, I'll tell you anything. What do you want to know?"

She smiled reassuringly and slid her hand over his to calm him. Although the kindness was mostly an act, she really did feel bad for this kid. After this, his life was more or less over. ONI couldn't release him now, he was too much of a liability. He was either staying in prison for life or was going to end up floating in space somewhere. Either way was a horrible way to go.

"It's alright Collins," she said reassuringly, "all I need to know is your name, rank, and serial number."

Devereaux didn't need to tell him twice.

"Collins, Robert A, corporal, serial number 0184673982," he said without hesitation.

Dev smiled and nodded. "Thank you Collins, that was very helpful. Now, about those Forerunner devices. What can you tell me about them?"

An honest look of confusion crossed his face, as though he had no idea why on earth they would be important to someone like her.

"Those things? Hell if I know, I just know when they load one onto my ship for a supply run my pay doubles, and I get a speech from my CO about how I should never to talk about it."

Dev smirked. "So you do know something? How about we make a deal. You give me a little bit more than that, and I'll let you go."

Terror crossed him once again and he tensed, ready to confess over and over again to escape the hell he had wandered into.

"That's all I know about that, I promise. I can tell you other things, please."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Are they worth it to me?" She asked coldly.

"Yes, of course," he wise insistently.

She smiled warmly and nodded for him to proceed.

"Look, I overheard a bunch of these ex-military guys the CO keeps around talking about some UNSC traitors they were gonna bust. They snuck in saying they were defecting but they were really working for you guys. He's gonna take them out soon."

Dev's face went ghost white and she looked at the camera in the corner of the cell. Brandon and Alison were about to be left trapped and defenseless on an enemy world.

"What do you know?" She pressed, dropping the good cop act.

She honestly didn't want to put this poor man through any more hell than he had already been through, but if he didn't tell her what he knew now there could be a lot worse coming to him down the line.

He recoiled back and held up his hands once again.

"No. That's all I know. I swear. Please, believe me," he pleaded with her.

She shook her head disapprovingly and stood, pacing around him and trying to rattle him.

"I'm sorry Collins I can't believe you can't do better than that, but I can't force you to tell me anything. But the ODSTs can. Would you like that?" She said with a snarl and a grimace.

Collins had clearly had enough of this. He folded forward into a crumpled ball and began to mutter incoherently about how he knew nothing, quietly pleading with her not to hurt him.

Dev sighed. If he had known anything important he would have told her by now. He was just a scared kid who got mixed up with the wrong people.

She smiled kindly once again at him, hoping to reassure him slightly.

"It's ok Collins, I believe you," she said, trying to give him a bit of reassurance.

The moment he heard this he let out a long breath and passed out, relieved.

She dashed out of the cell to find Mal and Vaz had already begun to armor up, and Osman had come down from the bridge to meet them.

"BB, get us some tactical data now," commanded Osman.

"The URF comm frequencies on Taurus VI are alight with chatter about an impending raid," said the AI through the ship's intercom, "We won't be able to reach the planet in time to stop it, but they appear to want to take them alive and drag them back to their orbital dock for interrogation. Relaying coordinates to BOGOF now."

"Then that's where we're going," said Osman snappily, before nodding to the ODSTs, "God speed, get them out alive."

The three of them nodded and dashed off for the hangar bay, but on the way there they all shot each other concerned looks. They all more or less knew that that man's days were numbered the moment he had set foot on this ship, but none of them felt particularly good about shortening them further, even if it meant they might be able to save Brandon and Alison.

Dev shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts as she put her helmet on. Now was not the time for that sort of thought.

Location: insurrectionist controlled planet Taurus VI, Taurus system, 09:45 standard military time, January 7th, 2558

Brandon sat cross legged on the floor, having not moved out of guilt and shame in well over two hours.

He couldn't feel worse right now, not if he tried. The pain Alison felt for the loss of her team had obviously been horrible, and he had done nothing but accentuate it, first by insulting her out of stupid, blind rage, and now by making her drop her guard at the worst of times.

Alison hadn't moved recently either. She was now completely engrossed in monitoring URF signals on her laptop. She seemed to be getting slightly more irritable as time wore on, but Brandon didn't ask why. He doubted she would appreciate it.

He was about to return to his aimless sitting and thinking when out of the corner of his eye he saw Alison move practically across the room in one, swift motion, grabbing her handgun from its hiding place and chambering a round.

"Lieutenant, on your feet, we are about to get hit," she said simply.

The urgency in her voice made him leap to his feet, not questioning what she meant by that until he had already grabbed his weapon from a nearby table. Before he could even ask for an explanation, Alison was already on it.

"There's chatter on the radio. Our is blown, URF forces are inbound. They intend to take us alive and they'll be here an minute in force. We need to move now."

"What the hell? What gave us away?" He asked.

Alison shot him a glare and shoved his backpack into his hands.

"Doesn't matter," she responded tersely, "move."

He nodded, and slipped on his backpack, clipping it into place and sliding his weapon into his holster before heading for the door. Before he could exit, however, he heard the unmistakable sound of a warthog APC entering the parking lot outside, it's overworked engine groaning at the weight it was pulling.

Alison checked the window, and sure enough, directly outside was the APC in question, painted black with police markings and a URF flag emblazoned on the hood. URF police in mismatched tactical gear began to pour out, ten of them at least. They dashed towards the building in a double file line, most of them carrying tasers and shotguns painted yellow to indicate they fired rubber, or other less than lethal rounds.

Alison had been right, they did want them alive.

"Secure the door," barked Alison.

Brandon didn't need to be told twice. He got into position behind a wall, aiming his weapon at the door. Alison did the same, and both of them listened as URF officers began to pound up the stairs in heavy boots, and then stacked up on their door, ready to breach it.

"No live rounds, we need them alive," Brandon heard someone say on other side of the door.

An uncharacteristically sadistic smile crossed Alison's face. This would be all too easy for her.

Brandon didn't have time to dwell on the change in Alison's demeanor. He held his weapon firmly on the door until he heard a low bang as the URF breacher blew the lock off the door, and five officers burst into the room.

Clearly they weren't willing to negotiate, and by extension, neither were Brandon or Alison. They both opened up them as they poured into the room.

Brandon's shots sprayed wildly at the funnel of soldiers, while Alison's were precise, striking them in the thighs, the head, and the arms, with not one of them ever hitting a helmet or a vest.

Two of them fell quickly to her fire, while the other two split their fire between the two of them.

Brandon hardly had time to react before a single rubber shotgun slug impacted him in the chest, knocking the wind out of him and causing him to fall onto his back, desperately gasping for air. He was sure at least two of his ribs were broken, and regaining his breath wasn't going to be easy.

Alison hardly flinched as two rubber slugs impacted her in the chest and the arm. They hurt a great deal more now that she was out of armor, but rubber slugs were hardly a match for spartan augmentations. She dropped the other three officers, and lied in wait for the other five to enter.

Rather than risk it, she heard the team lead call for them to fall back, and as soon as she heard them leave she dashed over to Brandon, yanking him to his feet.

"Lieutenant, can you walk?" She asked simply, as though she was going on without him regardless.

He nodded, and shakily reloaded his weapon, moving to cover the door.

Alison grabbed the breaching shotgun from a fallen member of the URF team, the only weapon on them with live rounds, and followed. They dashed down the hotel stairs and into the lobby, looking out at the parking lot.

Curiously enough the URF had abandoned their APC and were running away on foot. Alison fired a couple of rounds their way to discourage them from looping back around before exiting the lobby and heading for the APC.

Brandon followed, but just before Alison could enter the diver seat several, harsh spotlights illuminated them.

It was a trap, they had draw them out into the open, and now they had no way to fight back.

At least twenty URF officers, armed with tasers and shotguns dashed into parking lot, yelling at the two of them to surrender.

Alison ignored them and opened fire, taking down two of them in quick succession before diving behind the APC.

She cursed her own lack or armor, and remembered why she usually never left it behind.

The soldiers opened fire with everything they had, quickly dispatching brandon as several slugs impacted him, making sickening cracks as they broke his ribs.

Alison attempted to hold out against the barrage, but without her armor there was a limit to what she could take. Seven slugs hit her, bruising and eventually cracking one of her carbide ribs as she continued to drop URF troopers, before the last round hit her square in the chest, knocking her down.

She was dazed. Spartans were built to survive explosions, orbital drops, and just about anything in between, but as Alison tried to stand once again she knew she wouldn't be able to keep at this much longer. In spite of the pain, she tried to stand anyway.

Seeing that she wasn't going to stay down, one of the URF soldiers switched to his sidearm, and fired a live round into her left leg, and then her right, ensuring she couldn't move.

She screamed out in protest, pain shooting through her. She buckled and fell, completely unable to stand, and barely able to think.

As she tried to fight for her own consciousness she felt a small prick in her neck, and slowly the pain faded away.

The degree of her vision began to blur as whatever she had been injected with began to take her consciousness and she drifted off to sleep.


	10. Chapter 10: Goodnight Taurus VI

**AN: Hello all! I'm back! This is probably the quickest update I've made on this story in a long time, which I'm happy about, and I'm glad to be back in the swing of things.**

 **Two things before I let you read. First off, thanks so much to Ladyreclaimer for betaing this chapter. She's an amazing writer and and an amazing person, and her story is more than worth checking out. Secondly, I posted a note in my profile with a list of "theme songs" for my OC characters and ships for all of my stories including this one. Check them out and let me know what you think. The list isn't final, and I'm taking suggestions for changes.**

 **Anyway, I'll let you get on with reading. Please be advised. This chapter can get brutal, so please be ready for some angst, feels, and blood. Until next time Spartans.**

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 **"When both sides are convinced they're about to lose, they're both right."**

 **-excerpt from Murphy's laws of combat operations**

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Location: insurrectionist controlled planet Taurus VI, Taurus system, 11:00 standard military time, January 7th, 2558

Lassiter stepped off the pelican and into the station's loading dock as his men began to offload the UNSC prisoners. They supported the Lieutenant by placing his arms over their shoulders and unceremoniously dragged him through the halls of the station towards the brig. The Sedated Spartan needed to be strapped to a stretcher to be moved. Even in her subdued state she had proved very difficult to restrain. How someone in such a suppressed state had managed to give three of his men black eyes and broken noses was still beyond him.

Even though it probably should have been, the Spartan had ended up being the least of his concerns. What really had held his attention during most of the extraction was Ramirez's reaction towards being so close to the Spartan. He hadn't taken his eyes off of her, and every time she stirred, he would throw an infuriated glance her direction as though her resistance was a personal affront to him.

He wondered if this stemmed from when he had trained her. Lassiter already harbored little trust for ONI and anyone who had worked for them, including Ramirez, but learning he had trained Spartans took his distrust to a whole new level. Did he really know the an who the man supplying him intel was?

He watched as Ramirez barked a few more orders to the men escorting the Spartan before returning to Lassiter's side. A fire of anger was burning behind his eyes that Lassiter couldn't ignore, but he wouldn't mention for the time being.

"What's the plan?" Lassiter asked flatly.

Ramirez barely met his gaze. He was preoccupied with a file on his compad. No doubt it was a record of one of the two prisoners. More than likely it pertained to the Spartan.

"The plan is that we first determine whether or not the UNSC knows they've been captured, and then figure out what they've found."

He quickly put away his compad and spun on the balls of his feet to follow the men who had hauled the UNSC spies away without giving Lassiter a second glance.

"I'll interrogate the Spartan. Report back to me when you're done."

Ramirez's slapdash reaction infuriated Lassiter. He had just undertaken a dangerous gamble by capturing these two, and he wasn't about to put up with any more of Ramirez's crap. He grabbed Ramirez's shoulder and yanked him back around so they were face to face.

Ramirez was not amused by the action.

The glare Ramirez shot Lassiter caused him to take a few steps back. He was more than angry about the interruption. He was furious. This Spartan was clouding Ramirez's judgement, and Lassiter couldn't have that, especially not now that they had the UNSC right on top of them.

He straightened up and stared Ramirez down.

"You need to pull yourself together," he snapped, "I don't know what's gotten into you, but I won't let your vendetta against this Spartan affect my people."

Lassiter's tone snapped something inside Ramirez. His face contorted, and he kept his angry, level gaze as he inched closer to Lassiter. He didn't speak until their faces were nearly touching

"You hired me for this kind of thing," he said coldly, his voice thick with malice, "to do the kind of thing that you never could. Dirty work like spying, extortion, torture, and kidnapping. Do not get in my way while I try to do my job."

He nearly spit in Lassiter's face as he finished the sentence, and a second later

pulled back to a safe distance, his sadistic grimace not leaving his face even for a minute.

"You should tell the Lieutenant the Spartan is dead, break his hope and his will, and then proceed with the interrogation..." Said Ramirez.

The statement baffled Lassiter. What use could they get out of him if he believed their only leverage was dead. Before he could even open his mouth to ask, Ramirez's sadistic grin answered for him. He didn't care about information or strategy. He wanted nothing more than for these two to suffer.

"But you won't," he finished, "you simply are not cut out for the brutality of war."

And with that Ramirez walked out of the room. His pace was slow, and he didn't breathe another word.

Lassiter stood in stunned silence for almost a minute. He had seen bad sides of Ramirez before, sides he wished he didn't know existed, but none of that had come close to the sheer brutality his voice had conveyed in those few sentences.

Lassiter briefly contemplated stopping him, but he decided against it. Ramirez was right. This was war, and in all out war there are no rules. He was doing this to protect the colony he had worked so hard to build up. He wouldn't let this tear it all down.

* * *

Location: insurrectionist controlled planet Taurus VI, Taurus system, 11:15 standard military time, January 7th, 2558

Lieutenant Brandon woke with his head face down on a cold, metal table. A metallic taste lingered in his mouth, and he felt nauseatingly dizzy.

He tried to piece together the events of the night before, and how he had been captured. He vaguely remembered being ambushed in his hotel, and Alison's quick thinking that had allowed them to escape only to be trapped in the parking lot of their hotel. He remembered turning over onto his side moments before the URF officers had injected him with a sedative and seeing her laying on the ground, covered in blood and struggling. Her eyes were closed shut in pain as she fought the officers trying to restrain her.

 _No, Alison_ , he thought, his mind still in a haze.

He tried once again to peel himself off the table, only to groan in further pain as he felt the wounds that two rubber shotgun slugs had left on his chest. He knew at least one of his ribs was broken, and possibly his sternum as well. At least his lung wasn't punctured. He would be long dead.

He tried to stand up, but found himself yanking on a pair of zip cuffs. They bit into his wrists hard. They had to be made of steel cable or something about that heavy. He was trapped and there was no way to contact ONI or anyone else.

As his vision slowly began to blur once again he heard the door to his sterile, white cell open, listened as a figure walked towards him, and sat down across from him calmly.

He found himself face to face with captain Lassiter, who was carrying a tray of food. He expected him to be angry after all the damage he had done to his men, but his expression was even, and it didn't change as he sat down across the table from him.

"Lieutenant," he said coolly, "I believe you and I got off on the wrong foot."

Brandon stared him down coldly. He wasn't about to forget what he had seen him do to Alison and play his good cop bad cop game. As Lassiter pushed the tray of food across the table towards Brandon he immediately spit in it. He wasn't going to give him anything.

"Where is Alison," he deadpanned, cutting straight to the point.

Lassiter frowned. He pushed the food to the side and set his elbows on the table, glaring over at Brandon intensely.

"She's, fine Lieutenant," he said quickly, "but she isn't what I'm here to talk about. I know who you are, I know you work for the UNSC, and I know the woman you brought with you is a Spartan. What I need to know is what you've found while you've been here, and if the UNSC knows you were captured or not."

Brandon leaned back in his chair and smiled. The insistence in his tone told him Lassiter was desperate, and Brandon wasn't some common criminal. Police interrogation tactics weren't something he would cave to. He had been trained to withstand interrogation by Sangheili, and he'd survived battles that had put him through worse. If Lassiter thought he was getting anything out of him, he was wasting his time.

"Who said I'm with ONI?" said Brandon with a knowing smile, "I'm just a logistics technician looking for a job."

Lassiter gave him a cold stare. Brandon met its intensity with a glare of his own. If Lassiter wanted to know anything about what was going on he would have to meet Brandon half way.

"And unless you get Alison in here and prove to me she's alive," he continued, "that's all I'll ever be."

The taunt set Lassiter off. His cold, calm look flashed in an instant to one of bitter anger. He leaned forward onto the table and looked threateningly at Brandon. Until now Brandon was betting on the fact that Lassiter was a cop at heart and he would be too soft to interrogate him, but now he wasn't looking quite so weak.

"I'll be frank with you Lieutenant," he said with a twinge of anger, "I have no time for this. Either you tell me whether or not ONI knows where you are now, or I force you too. If you won't cave to that, I'll kill you, because the absolute last thing I need on my planet is a live UNSC spy. You make us a target."

Brandon set his face into a neutral frown and stared directly ahead of him. He didn't need to show Lassiter that some part of him believed him, or that he was in any way afraid. His training had taught him that nothing scares and frustrates captors more than a prisoner that doesn't fear death.

"Then you've only got so long before ONI blows this place out of the sky. I suggest you start running."

Brandon tried to use exertion from his injuries to mask just how much he feared that statement. If Lassiter was serious, and Alison wound up dead because of him, he wasn't sure what he would do with himself. He had already caused too many deaths he couldn't stand being responsible for another.

As if to cement his thoughts, Lassiter reached into his pocket and pulled out a tacpad. He began to scroll through personnel files until he finally found Brandon's.

"2547," said Lassiter coldly, "you saw your first action during the battle of Skopje with the 52nd airborne, lost half your unit and became the second highest ranking officer in your division, and for your efforts they promote you. At the battle of Minab you lose another half of your unit, and become the last commissioned officer in your division. On Reach you lose the rest of your unit, and somehow, only you make it out alive. History doesn't lie Lieutenant. Everywhere you go, everything that can possibly go wrong does go wrong for everyone but you. Don't make that happen here."

Brandon found it hard to meet Lassiter's gaze. He wasn't sure where he had found those records, Brandon was sure no one had seen them in years, and he certainly hadn't talked to anyone about them in at least that long, but here they were back to haunt him. It felt as though the ghost of those dead men had come back and was asking for revenge upon him.

He tried not to falter, but as the images of his men, dead and dying on the battlefield, came back to him, he felt hot tears of anger begin to run down his blood caked face. He screamed out in agony at Lassiter.

"If you hurt Alison, I'll make sure ONI destroys everything you've built here. I've got friends in high places. I'm sure one of them could dig up a ventral glassing beam," he spat in Lassiter's face.

At the mention of glass, Lassiter snapped. His mind shot back to his family, trapped on the glassed surface of Eridanus II, stumbling through the ash choked landscape and struggling to find shelter. In the distance Lassiter had seen a small aircraft that was in good enough shape to get them off the planet. He had picked up his daughter and grabbed his wife by the hand, securing the gas masks they wore before he began to half carry half drag them towards it. It took what felt like an eternity to reach it, and when they did Lassiter had quickly opened the cargo bay door, not thinking twice to look for danger. He payed for his mistake.

The door swung open and revealed two Jackal scavengers sorting through a mess of crates in the ship's loading bay. Lassiter had reached to draw his M6C, the service weapon he had carried as a police captain, but before he could even clear the leather the jackals were on him. The first one through a knife, impaling his daughter, while the other one shot a single bolt of plasma wide over his head, striking his wife. He fought to end the memory, and the agony it held, but he couldn't. He remembered tearing the gas mask off his daughter's face and cradling her close to his chest, comforting her as she breathed her last.

All of that could have been prevented if those Spartans had waited only a moment longer for them, but they couldn't be bothered to rescue meaningless civilians like them. He had no time for this Lieutenant's concern for inhuman monsters that were more powered armor and biofoam than person.

Lassiter grimaced and yelled in rage, now completely blinded by anger. He picked up the metal tray of food he had brought with him, emptied it onto the floor, and swung it at Brandon as hard as he could. The tray connected with his jaw and knocked him to the side. Had he not been restrained it would have knocked him out of his chair. Brandon was dazed for a moment and it took him a little longer than he would have liked to recover his mental faculties.

He spat blood onto the floor and tried to sit back up. His eyes connected with Lassiter's for a moment, and he swore he saw reluctance, even pain in them. For a moment it looked almost as though he really didn't want to do this. Before Brandon could capitalize on his reluctance and use it to remind his captor that he was a human being who would be missed, the tray connected with his head once again. The corner of it met his temple and sent him sprawling once again as his vision exploded into color. He fought to recover once again, but before he could the tray met his head several more times until it was bent nearly in half.

Brandon struggled to sit up one last time. His vision was blurry, and he knew recovering from a hit like that would take time. He knew both his lips were bleeding profusely. The pain in his chest from where the rubber slug had hit him earlier only intensified as he breathed harder. He was probably black and blue. He knew that no matter what kind of brave face he put on now Lassiter would still know that was not something anyone could put up with for long and still keep a straight face.

Lassiter stood before him, heaving from exertion with the tray clutched in his right hand. He threw it across the room and met Brandon's bloodshot eyes with another angry, cold glare.

"Why are you here and who knows?" He yelled at him, "tell me now or I'll kill the Spartan and then I'll kill you."

"Go to hell!" He screamed in response.

Lassiter gave him one last, angry, cold stare. Brandon half expected him to kill him where he stood, but he stopped only seconds before he did. With fire still blazing in his eyes, he then turned to face the door.

"Have it your way," he said coldly as he walked out.

Brandon felt a cold, dreading feeling wash over him as he began to wonder what he had just done. If he had truly just doomed Alison to die he would never forgive himself.

* * *

Location: insurrectionist controlled planet Taurus VI, Taurus system, 11:15 standard military time, January 7th, 2558

Blurry vision, a splitting headache, and pains in every fiber of her being were all Alison could feel as she woke up. Her body screamed in protest as she tried to clear her vision from the fog it was in and tried to ignore the throbbing pain she was feeling, but it was to no avail. She must have been under the influence of some kind of sedative, or else her augmentations would have allowed her to sort out a small vision problem.

She fought to recall how she had ended up here. She remembered being shot, beaten, and sedated, and little else after that other than waking up restrained in a dark room and in serious pain. She hadn't seen anyone since she had woken, and no one had tried to treat her injuries. She had struggled against her restraints and hadn't been able to budge. They were heavy and hard to break and the sedative that had been placed on her made gathering enough strength to break them impossible.

Did the URF mean to let her rot here and die of her injuries?

She supposed it was better than a lot of alternatives, but that wasn't what concerned her. What concerned her was what had happened to the Lieutenant. She hadn't seen him and that worried her deeply. What if he had been killed because she didn't protect him?

She tried to make him seem unimportant in her mind. She tried to funnel the rage she had felt when he had tried to reassure her that everything would be alright when she had found that Spartan's helmet, but his words had been just that, reassuring. Despite how badly she wanted to push him, away she found that as the possibility that he had died on her watch came over her she couldn't write him off as someone she could forget.

She had known him. Maybe she had known him for only a few days, but a few days were more human interaction than she had had with anyone in years. She couldn't take the pain of his death being on her.

She heard the door across from her slide open as she fought and failed to push these thoughts from her head. She tried to harden her eyes despite the fact that, because of either blood loss or sedative, her vision was still all too blurry.

The figure silently walked across the room. She was vaguely aware he was holding something, maybe a weapon, but it was too hard to stay focused on him and she let her head drop instead. It wasn't important what he was holding or what he intended to do to her, she would resist just as she had been trained to.

She felt him grab her chin and make her look at him. Her eyes were half lidded, and his face was blurry, but something about him seemed oddly familiar. A cold chill of fear washed over her. She tried to suppress it, but it wasn't the kind of thing that would stay hidden. The chill felt more like a memory than a physical shiver. It was a memory of pain and fear.

"Alison-065," said the man nonchalantly, as though the fact that she was a Spartan wasn't surprising or worrying in the least, "where have you been all these years?"

The chill that had washed over her became a wind of freezing cold. She remembered that voice all too well.

 _No, this can't be happening_ , she thought to herself.

Her sedative must have been causing a hallucination. She hadn't heard that voice in many, many years. That voice and the man attached to it had left her life years ago never to return again. Daniel Ramirez had been her instructor during her training and augmentations. The things he had done to her had been awful.

She didn't want to think about it, but after hearing his voice she couldn't stop herself. He had done things to her that were far beyond the normal level of brutality that the Spartan program trainees endured. He had hurt her I'm ways she would never recover from and abused her in ways no little girl should ever have had to witness.

He was the sum of all her fears, and he was standing right before her. Her vision began to clear and focus on him, but she snapped her eyes shut in defiance. Every part of her went into overdrive from her muscles to her immune system as she struggled against the heavy sedative that kept her pinned to the chair she was sitting in.

She managed to let out a muffled yelp and begin to strain on her restraints. She listened to the metal pop and she thought for a moment that she might actually get free. If she did, she would pummel this man, her abuser, into a bloody, pasty pulp and make sure that no trace of him was ever recovered.

Before she could break free, she felt a sharp pain in her arm as a needle pierced her skin and more sedative was administered. It was strong, strong enough to kill a regular human, but only enough to throw a Spartan into a daze. God only knows that Ramirez knew how to torture her.

"Why?" She spat out, "what are you..."

She couldn't finish her thought before the substance took hold and she went back into a dazed state.

"Why?" Laughed Ramirez.

She heard him pick up a large metal object off a nearby table. The sound of it scraping against metal told her it was a bladed weapon and a sharp one at that. She cringed and tried to fold in on herself. She had endured pain in her life, most of the time it hardly affected her, but the thought of the pain he had caused her before was too much for anyone to bear.

"There is no why," he continued, "I didn't come looking for you. I was done with you years ago when I finally made a soldier out of you. This meeting is entirely by chance."

Alison hardly had time to dwell on any of what he said. She didn't have time to consider that he believed he hadn't done anything wrong, and that the awful things he had done to her as a little girl had made her into a great soldier.

He spun around, and in what seemed like one, quick motion, he put the knife all the way through her shoulder.

The sedatives calming affects left her immediately and she screamed and reeled in pain. She promised herself she wouldn't cry, and that she wouldn't show weakness in front of this man, but she felt hot tears stream down her face anyway. Even though she was easily the strongest woman alive, she felt entirely powerless.

Ramirez smiled at her as he twisted the knife, eliciting another stifled scream. He laughed lowly. His enjoyment burned in the back of his eyes. He wanted to make her suffer and writhe for his own enjoyment. He wanted to torture her on a level she didn't even know she had.

"Your Army friend is dead," he whispered into her ear, "and you'll end up the same if you don't cooperate just as I ask you too."

In that moment Alison's fear was overcome by sheer blinding rage. Her eyes snapped open and locked onto his. She ignored the pain and tried her best to sit up straight and resist. If he had killed the Lieutenant she would personally kill him as well.

He had killed the last good thing to ever come into her life. That alone was worth his own.

"You're dead," she snapped.

Ramirez did nothing but smirk and twist the knife's handle.

Another cry ripped through her. The pain was overwhelming and she could feel blood running down her chest and soaking her clothes as he dug deeper. The knife tore away the identity she had built after her training. Her infallible strength was gone. All that was left was the small girl who had seen the worst the world could do to someone.

Alison folded in on herself, screamed out in agony, and for the first time in an untold number of years, she cried.


	11. Chapter 11: Friendly fire

**AN: alright guys, another update. Sorry this one is short, but I'm going out of town tommorow, and not the good kind of out of town where it gives me a ton of writing inspiration, so I wanted to get something out for you all before I left for two weeks. Anyways, this isn't much, but it's important, and enjoyable I hope.**

 **Have fun Spartans :)**

* * *

 **"The only thing more acurate than incoming enemy fire is incoming friendly fire,"**

 **-excerpt from Murphy's Laws of combat operations**

* * *

Location: slipstream space, in route to insurrectionist controlled planet Taurus VI, Taurus system, exact time unknown, exact date unknown, approximated date and time 12:30 hours standard military time, January 7th, 2558

"Stand by for deceleration," called Devereaux to Mal and Vaz as they geared up in the rear of the pelican.

"Copy that," they responded in sync.

At this point in their career both of them knew to always be strapped in while Devereaux was flying, and that went double for today. If Brandon and Alison had been captured, they didn't have long before the URF decided to kill them and be done with it. Holding UNSC prisoners was too risky, and if they weren't careful they could end up with a target on their backs with ONI's name on them.

What they weren't counting on was Kilo-5's single mindedness when it came to protecting their teammates. If Brandon and Alison weren't both alive and well when they got there, that station would have a MAC round put through inside the week, and the planet wouldn't fare much better.

Devereaux braced herself to come out of slipspace. She had over clocked the pelican's jury rigged drive to get them here this fast. If she had pushed it any harder it would have redlined, and that me at this was going to be one hell of a deceleration. She grabbed onto the sides of her seat and tried to hold herself in place as countdown on the jump clicked down to zero.

The pelican tore out of slipspace, it's improvised drive shuddering and shaking under the weight of the jump. If Dev hadn't seen Adj Install it herself she wouldn't have believed it would hold up, but it did, and without engaging the cloak she accelerated rapidly towards the refit station. At the speed she was going a cloak wouldn't have mattered, they could have seen the heat signature from her engine a parsec away.

"Lian, you may want to take evasive maneuvers to avoid the station's defenses..." said BB over her cockpit speakers, "or maybe you could let me fly?"

Devereaux did little more than roll her eyes.

The station's automated defenses activated and two thirty millimeter auto cannons began to fire explosive projectiles her way through the void. She ducked and dodged under the projectiles while she waited for the red indicator on her HUD to indicate she had missile lock on them. When she did, she let lose two anvil missiles and from the pelican's twin rocket pods and watched the hydrogen fuel trail they left behind as they streaked towards the station and impacted, creating a small flash of light as small pockets of air caught fire before the vacuum caused them to fizzle out into nothing and leave two destroyed turrets in their wake.

"Don't ever ask me to let you drive," quipped Devereaux as she completed the maneuver, but she wasn't done showing off quite yet.

Devereaux executed a hairpin inverted roll maneuver that brought them around to face the hangar doors of the station. She had already flipped on the master arm for her missiles and chain gun, and was ready to blow it's steel door to pieces, but what she found was quite abnormal.

There was no steel door. In it's place was an energy shield that covered the hangar entrance in shimmering blue light. Had she had time to reflect on it's significance she would have noted that, other than a handful of prowlers and the _Infinity_ herself, no UNSC spacecraft had ever been fitted with energy shields on their hangar doors, and that obtaining the technology for a refit would be nearly impossible for a group of mid-level terrorists, but she didn't. BB was probably watching all this from her helmet cam anyway. If there was any relevant data worth looking at, he would find it.

She descended through the energy shield and landed the pelican hard on the hangar deck, dropping the boarding ramp so that Mal and Vaz could exit.

As soon as the ramp hit the ground she heard gunfire. Luckily, Mal and Vaz had already set up a rolling barricade in the middle of the pelican's troop bay in case they came under fire while boarding.

The bark of their two assault rifles and the turn fire from the URF was deafening. Dev grabbed her shotgun and moved to join them. She dove from the cockpit to cover behind the barricade and then immediately sprang up, lighting off her shotgun three times and filling the confined space of the hangar with lead.

Mal and Vaz followed, shooting down a few remaining URF troopers that attempted to enter the hangar from door on either side, before hitting a button the barricade that caused it to roll forward and position itself in front of the pelican. The two of them moved as one and grabbed a remote controlled defensive turret from where it was strapped in against the pelican's port side bulkhead and set it up so it could cover the pelican while they searched the station. Mal set up the tripod while Vaz grabbed the gun and fed an ammo belt into it. He booted up the dumb AI that controlled the gun and left it be as a red laser flickered to life and began to scan the hangar for targets. No one would get passed the hail of 7.62x39mm lead it could dispense any time soon.

"We need to sweep this place quick," called Devereaux to the two of them, "we don't know how long those two have. BB, keep it warm for us."

"Yes ma'am," responded the AI with uncharacteristic obedience. Maybe her showing off actually had been good for something.

The ODSTs nodded as well, and followed quickly after her as she took off to begin searching a nearby corridor. When they opened the door that lead to it, a hallway with a seemingly endless amount of doors branching off of it presented itself to them. It would take them hours to search them all throughly, and for all they knew they had minutes until Brandon and Alison were killed.

"Last time I stick my neck out for the Army," grumbled Mal.

The two ODSTs switched on their armor's thermal cameras that allowed them to see heat signatures through walls while Devereaux prepared a breaching charge to blow open doors. Then, with a single minded purpose, they began their search.

* * *

Location: Cradle class refit station _Mechanical advantage_ , in geosynchronous orbit above insurrectionist controlled planet Taurus VI, Taurus system, 12:40 hours standard military time, January 7th, 2558

Lassiter and Ramirez sprinted through the corridor with a compliment of fifteen URF troopers making a B line towards where the station's alarms were blaring. The moment they had heard the automated defenses activate they had gathered the who ever they could find and prepared to repel whoever was boarding them. They hoped against hope that it was a just group of Kigyar pirates attempting to raid the station for weapons and ships, but when the automated defenses had been destroyed with a quick salvo of missiles both of them began to worry that this was the UNSC rescue party they had been hoping would never come.

Ramirez had a deep scowl on his face, but something about him looked all too satisfied. Lassiter hadn't seen him since he had started trying to pry information out of that Spartan two hours ago, but he couldn't imagine that there would be anything satisfying about that experience. Interrogating a soldier with that level of training was probably about as fruitful as talking to a wall. Then again, maybe he was crazy, but that didn't seem to be what he was mad about.

He had seen Ramirez when he was frustrated. Usually his expression changed little, with only a sharp change in the tone of his voice to show that his demeanor had changed at all. This was in stark contrast to the deep anger that showed in his expression now. Usually he only visibly looked this mad when he was interrupted from something important, or something he enjoyed. It crossed Lassiter's mind that maybe he wasn't mad because he had to interrogate the Spartan. Maybe he was mad because he had had to pause his interrogation.

He forced himself not to dwell on it. After hearing that Ramirez had trained that spartan during his time with ONI Lassiter had begun wonder what history Ramirez had that he didn't know about. He assumed that it was probably too twisted for him to every understand, and horrible enough to make him never want to.

The group's rounded a corner in the station's maze of hallways, and almost immediately one of the URF troopers fell to a shotgun blast. Lassiter looked to see where the blast had come from and found himself face to face with three UNSC Marines. One wore a pilot's uniform and was flanked by two others in ODST armor with blue stripes and the ONI logo emblazoned on their chest pieces.

Lassiter and everyone else in the group knew exactly what that logo meant for them. They had pissed off the wrong people by interfering with these two agents.

The group threw themselves back around the bend of the hallway and took cover against the wall, with one of them falling immediately to the ODST's gun fire. He screamed as a rifle round tore through his neck. He was dead before he hit the floor. Two of the troopers began to fire around the bend at the three Marines, but they were met with a barrage of gunfire and quickly ducked back into cover.

Lassiter and Ramirez drew their sidearms and hugged the wall. Two of the troopers grabbed them both by the shoulders and forced them down, shielding their superiors as they lead them back to a safer room further up the hallway.

When they ducked through the doorway Ramirez immediately pulled off the helmet he had donned and threw it to the ground hard enough to snap the external camera clean off, and shatter it to pieces on the floor. He grunted in rage at the situation.

"Dammit," he cursed, "if ONI's here it won't be long before this whole station is blown to shit. You need to grab what you can and leave."

Lassiter noticed the subtle hint in Ramirez's voice. _Grab what **you** can_. Did that mean he intended to leave him?

As of to confirm his suspicions he motioned for the two troopers to flank Lassiter while he picked up his helmet and placed it on his head. He turned to leave all too quickly.

No. This was just what he had been afraid of the whole time. Ramirez had no loyalty to this cause. Lassiter wasn't sure if his loyalty lies with himself, or some other power, but the URF wasn't near the top of Ramirez's list of concerns. Personally, Lassiter didn't care where Ramirez's loyalties were. He wasn't going to let his internal crisis take down the bastion of civilization he had built away from the UNSC.

"And just where the hell are you going?" Called Lassiter after him.

Lassiter reached for his handgun in case he had to stop Ramirez with force, but he was too slow. Ramirez spun around, and with reflexes Lassiter had never seen him display before, he brought his handgun to bear on Lassiter's chest. Lassiter's immediate reaction was to level his weapon as well, but he stopped himself. If he even tried Ramirez would drop him.

"I'm leaving," he said coldly.

He flicked the barrel of his pistol towards Lassiter, and instantly Lassiter felt the cold muzzles of the two URF troopers weapon's press into his neck. Their matte black visors were as unyielding as Ramirez's eyes as they stared him down.

Lassiter wanted to scream aloud. These were his men pointing weapons at him. Ramirez had no doubt used money and weapons to get to them, and a lot of them. His men were loyal. Whatever Ramirez was offering, it had to be pretty good to pull them away.

"You, on the other hand," continued Ramirez, "are going to secure the Lieutenant and what we came here for, and then you are going to leave with them and meet me at X50. Leave the Spartan. She's not important any longer."

Lassiter snarled at him in rage. He had known Ramirez was crazy and sadistic, but up until now he had at least been loyal. He should have never trusted anyone associated with the UNSC. The empire he had built was falling apart because of them right now. There was a million things Lassiter could have said to him in that moment, but he kept his mouth shut. It simply wasn't worth it.

Ramirez lowered his weapon and exited into the hallway, running towards the hangar at full tilt. The Guards that flanked Lassiter backed away, and then gestured for him to exit the room first. As he looked back towards them he noticed that both of them had removed their name tapes and polarized their visors completely so he couldn't tell their identities, and they didn't look to keen on talking. They had been prepared for this eventuality. Ramirez must have seen this going south from a mile away and made a plan to get out.

They gestured for him to exit the room, and he complied begrudgingly. He looked first to his left, towards where the ONI agents had been firing from. Nearly half the men that had started defending the hallway lay bleeding out and dying in the middle of it. The squad's corpsman lay with a hole in his chest, his helmet shattered and a dead look gracing his eyes. They weren't going to last much longer.

He ran for them. He didn't know what Ramirez's plan was, but he wouldn't help it any longer. He would die here with these men rather than see it to it's completion. Before he had made a full stride towards them, however, one of the guards grabbed him by his collar and slammed him to the floor. He met the ground hard, shooting pain through his body before his head cracked against the floor and sent him into a daze. They aimed their rifles at his back and ground their boots into his ribs before yanking him to his feet, his lip now broken and his face bruised and bloody.

Lassiter cried out loud in anger, and lashed out at the guards, punching one in the side of his helmet as hard as he could. His strike ricocheted, and Lassiter clutched his fist as blood began pour from his knuckles. The guard leveled leveled his weapon at him. He had him dead to rights. He made a demanding motion for Lassiter to head to the brig.

Lassiter starred him down for only a brief moment. He wondered, if he saw the look in his commanding officer's eyes, would he realize what he was doing is wrong? The answer came as a cold, matte black glare. Finally, Lassiter begrudgingly complied and headed for the brig. As he ran off with the guards at his heals, he heard a grenade go off behind him. The were no screams from his men as it detonated. They all must have died instantly.

As Lassiter continued to run, he couldn't help but but conjure up a memory of the a Spartans who had abandoned him and his family. Was it possible that they could have felt the same way? Watching so many die as he made his way to safety?

He tried hard not to think about it as he ran for cover.


	12. Chapter 12: We All Go Home or We Don't

**AN: well, so much for my commitment to quick updates. Then again, this is a long one, easily 2-3 chapters long. It's intense, and I won't say anything more. Let me know if you cry Spartans.**

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 **"If everyone does not come home none of the rest of us can ever fully come home either."**

 **-Excerpt from Murphy's Laws of combat operations**

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Location: Cradle class refit station _Mechanical Advantage_ , in geosynchronous orbit above insurrectionist controlled planet Taurus VI, Taurus system, 13:01 standard military time, January 7th, 2558

Brandon struggled and squirmed against the restraints that bound him to his chair. As soon as he had heard the station's automated defenses spin up, he had assumed Kilo-5 had arrived. No one else was crazy enough to attacks station like this. He had started to work out a plan of escape. So far he hadn't got the pats the problem of the zip cuffs that held him firmly in place, but if he did he wouldn't need much more to figure out a way out of here and find Alison. Right now, above anything else, she was his biggest concern.

A wave of sickness washed over him as she crossed his mind. He was disgusted with himself for the hell she had been put through. Some, or most of it, had been a direct result of his actions, and he wasn't about to let himself live that down. Not until he did everything possible to make it up to her.

His wrists began to bleed as he struggled harder and the plastic cuffs cut deeper into his wrists, making him cry out in pain, and a moment later, stop fighting. He cursed himself. He wouldn't sit idly by while his teammate was tortured, and possibly killed. He had let enough good men and women die on his watch already.

As he began to drop his head and give up his struggle, he heard boots clatter outside the door towards the cell. Behind them he heard the whirring of a robotic dolly as its treads ground against the floor of the station, clearly carrying a heavy load. Brandon didn't pay to much at attention to the details however. Someone was coming, and that meant either Kilo-5 had found him, or the URF was moving him so they couldn't. Either presented an opportunity to escape.

The door slid open and in rolled a robotic dolly carrying one of the cannon barrel objects they had come their for, flanked by three URF guards. Lassiter was among them, but he didn't appear to be acting so tough any more. He no longer had his weapon, and as the two URF a guards moved to secure him, he noticed that one of them kept his rifle in Lassiter's General direction. Brandon didn't dwell on that for too long either. Lassiter was unarmed, so that made it easier to escape, and if the URF was lugging around one of these devices while their base was under attack that meant it had to be important enough to risk drawing fire from Kilo-5. Lassiter moved to untie his restraints. Clearly they meant to move him, and the device, off this station.

For a moment he wondered if Lassiter had a change of heart, because rather than beating him savagely as he had before, he undid his restraints with little fanfare and pushed him roughly to his feet. Maybe he could reason with him.

"Captain," he began, "my team is here. You're not getting out of this. Just let me go with this device and Alison and..."

Brandon was cut off by the hardest punch he had received in a long time. It connected with his jaw and sent him sprawling against the wall. Brandon prepared for another hit, but it never came. Brandon looked up with a dazed expression to find that it hadn't been Lassiter that had hit him, but one of the helmeted URF guards. Lassiter just looked at him sadly.

Something about him told Brandon that he had screwed up. This wasn't just about getting away from kilo-5 or whatever the hell that device was. Lassiter had lost this game on a whole new level.

As Brandon was once again hauled to his feet. He tried to say something to Lassiter, but it was impossible to do or say anything through the splitting headache he had. He was forced to moved towards the door of the cell, and forced out of into the cell block when it opened. Brandon only got a quick glance at the state of the hallway before he was yanked back through the door. Dead URF troopers lined the hallway, a scorch mark from a grenade stained its center, and at the other end Kilo-5 took cover behind a doorway they had cut open, leaving a mangled mass of molten metal on the floor in front of them as a reminder of their breaching attempt.

As soon as brandon was back in the cell one of the troopers threw him to the ground, then, for reasons unknown did the same to Lassiter.

Only seconds later Kilo-5 let go a wall of lead at the two troopers. They attempted to take cover behind the doorway and fight them off, but it was no use. A flash-bang grenade rolled in the door, and Brandon rolled over to protect his eyes as it set off in a blinding flash of light. He heard two cracks as the ODSTs shot dead the two troopers, and then heard Vaz yell "clear" as they rushed into the room after them.

Someone placed a hand on his shoulder and rolled him over onto his back. He found himself staring into the face shield of a helmet marked with the name _Geffen, Malcolm_. He had never been happier to see someone so arrogant, hostile, and disagreeable in his life.

"Army guy, you alright? You look like shit," he commented with a laugh before helping him sit up against the wall.

Dev knelt down next to them and smiled at him.

"Nah, he's good," commented Devereaux before she slapped brandon on the shoulder hard, causing him to wince, "hell, he should be feeling a lot better. Looks like the URF fixed his ugly face."

Normally Brandon would have appreciated the ODSTs humor, but right now all he could focus on was Alison. The URF already thought of her as a captured piece of hardware. If Kilo-5 had them on the run they could kill her at any moment.

He stumbled to his feet and braced himself against the wall while Vaz secured Lassiter, who was still sprawled on the ground. He hauled him to his feet and stood him face to face with brandon. As Brandon looked Lassiter in the eye he felt his anger begin to boil over; anger over how he had treated Alison like an object to leverage him with, anger over how he possibly could have killed her. If he had killed her, he would kill him right where he stood and he would think a second thought about it. He didn't care if Osman personally spaced him for his arrogance. This man needed to die.

"Where is she?" He said angrily, "where's Alison?"

He made sure to put extra emphasis on _she_. He wasn't going to let Lassiter hide behind the excuse that this was a genetically engineered machine he was abusing. Alison was a living, breathing human being. He glared at him in a way that demanded an immediate and complete answer. He didn't have the strength to beat an answer out of him.

What caught Brandon off guard, was that Lassiter didn't seem to put up any resistance to his question. Physically he looked fine. The fall to the ground may have broken his nose or given him a slight concussion, but that was nothing someone like him couldn't handle. Yet as the question rolled off Brandon's tongue he didn't glare or snarl, or resist in any way.

"Cell block 13 B," he said simply.

For a moment, his tone sounded almost sad. Brandon paused for a moment to wonder why he wouldn't resist. After all the brutality he had shown him, why was he giving up so easily? Unfortunately he didn't have much time to consider anything at the moment, Mal grabbed a rifle from one of the dead guards and thrust it into Brandon's hands. Brandon accepted it with a nod and brought it to battery before jamming spare magazines into his cargo pockets.

"Grab that," said Brandon as he pointed to the device and the robotic dolly Lassiter had used to carry it, "it's important, somehow, trust me."

Despite Brandon's vague reasoning, the ODSTs complied and reprogrammed the robot to follow them. They could tell Brandon was on a mission.

The four of them set off out the door with Vaz leading and Lassiter in the center of the pack. They reached the end of the cellblock, labeled C, without incident, but the moment the door slid open the hallway that faced them filled with lead as another group of URF soldiers opened fire on them.

Having already gotten into a decent rhythm, Kilo-5 didn't need much time to think about what to do, they simply reacted. Vaz slammed Brandon and Lassiter back while Mal laid down cover fire for Devereaux. She reached into her vest and retrieved a flash bang, hurling it down the hall and placing it in the relative center of the URF troops. It exploded with a crack and a flash of light, sending the URF troops sprawling. The four of them leaned out of the cell block's doorframe and laid down heavy fire on them, killing most of them easily. Any that remained either scattered for cover and didn't come out, or flat out ran for their lives.

They took the opportunity and got moving towards the next cellblock, locking the door behind them as soon as the robot carrying the device crossed the threshold. Brandon raced ahead of them towards cell 13. Mal threw him a small, portable oxyacetylene torch, and he immediately began cutting the door's lock in a shower of sparks.

His face blazed with determination as he cut the last few inches of steel, determined to break Alison free and to insure that she became the first soldier to survive unharmed under his command. He wouldn't forgive himself if he didn't.

The lock broke free, and he shoved the door the rest of the way open with his rifle. He looked quickly over the room, but what he saw took a moment to register. The first thing to hit his nose was the distinct smell of iron. He scanned the floor, and found it covered in puddles of bright red blood. Eventually, his eyes settled on the huddled, blood covered mass that lay on the ground in front of him.

"Alison," he said breathlessly.

He ran and knelt next to her.

 _No, no, no, God no_ , he thought as he looked her over. He didn't know what had been down to her, but it sure as hell didn't look survivable. Blood was all over her. Whoever had tortured her had made deliberate incisions over her scars, reopening them and creating fresh wounds over the old ones, as though to literally dig bad memories up from under her skin. Her porcelain skin was stained with sweat, grease, and trails of blood. Her hair was matted where clumps of blood had formed in it.

The sight made him sick. He had seen a fair bit of blood in his time in the Army, but he nearly vomited as the he checked for a pulse on her. After a painful moment of searching and wondering, he found one, but he still felt himself unable to breath a sigh of relief. He had put her through this. Everything that had happened to her was his fault. He had lead yet another soldier into battle, and they had come out infinitely worse for wear.

He hadn't the slightest idea what to do for her, so he did the only thing he could do. He treated her like a human being, something so many, including himself, had failed to do in the past. He placed a hand onto her cold cheek and rested his forehead against hers, taking deep breaths to contain his anger, his rage, and his sadness at what had been done to her.

"Alison, I am so sorry," he said quietly.

As those words left his mouth, he began to feel her stir under his grasp. His heart leapt as he pulled away enough to look her in the eye, but in a short, violent second, her gentle stirring became an intense, defensive reaction.

She tore Brandon's arms away from her and placed a powerful, augmented hand around his throat, instantly cutting off his flow of air. She picked him up and slammed him against the wall, pining him there with ease. His eyes went wide with terror. Alison must have been left for dead by Lassiter hours ago in a pool of her own blood. She must have been lying in wait this entire time, saving her strength and waiting for someone to come and retrieve her body so she could kill them and escape. Now, in her blind rage, she saw Brandon as that very person. He could tell by the glassy, furious look in her eyes as they bored through his own with an intense glare that she really couldn't see him anyway.

For a moment Brandon struggled to get free, hoping he could convince Alison that it was alright, that she was safe, and that he was here to help her. After a moment of thrashing, however, he realized the futility of his actions. Would Alison really be set at ease knowing that it was him who had woken her? The man who had abandoned her in her hour of need? Maybe she truly had a right to this. Maybe being choked to death by the last, living person to serve under his command was a fitting death for a failed Lieutenant.

He went limp, and accepted his fate as it became harder and harder to breathe under her grasp. As his vision became closer to blacking out, he watched as something began to change in Alison. Slowly the glassiness left her eyes and was replaced by horror as she realized what she was doing. Moments before he lost consciousness she dropped him to the floor and backed away rapidly, plastering herself to the wall of the cell and scanning the room with a wide-eyed look, as though she had fallen asleep and woken up in a horror film. Her breathing was shallow and panicked as she attempted to melt into the wall and to hide in plain sight from him and from the world.

Brandon caught his breath as his airway opened, and took several, deep breaths as he lay sprawled on the floor. His lungs and his throat burned, but those were the least of his concerned as he looked upon Alison's huddled form. The instant he recovered enough to stand he made his way over to her. He held out a hand and forced a smile as he looked over her huddled, bloodstained form. She narrowed her eyes at him as he attempted to get to his feet and move to her, warning him to stay away. She had the look of death in her eyes as he reached out to placed a hand over hers.

Anger shot through her at the touch. For a moment, she looked ready to wind up and strike him as hard as she could, but she stopped herself. She gave him one, last, pained look, and then she gave up, and let herself fall into a silent heap. To see a woman as strong as Alison simply give up was an awful sight to behold. She, the epitome of human strength, had been broken by the sharp edge of a knife.

Brandon grabbed her hand with a tight grip. He wanted her to know he was here, and he wasn't going to leave her. They would make it out of this one together. He wanted to embrace her, to hold her close and let her know everything would be alright, but she deserved to have her personal space respected, especially after what had just been done to her.

It chilled him to think that the URF had done this to her. Maybe it had even been done by Lassiter himself. He couldn't believe that someone could live with themselves after being so close to a person as they suffered horribly, and get some sick enjoyment out of their cries to stop.

Brandon spun around and looked at Devereaux, who stood agape next to Lassiter in the doorway. She was completely in shock, which Brandon assumed was rare for someone in her line of work. Anyone employed by ONI had no doubt seen, and maybe experienced, torture at its worst.

"Medkit, now," demanded Brandon.

Devereaux immediately complied, and tore an IFAK pouch from the spot it was Velcroed on to her vest, throwing it to him swiftly. As he caught it he glanced over to Lassiter. Brandon expected a pleased look to grace his face as he witnessed Brandon's pain, but instead Brandon found something else entirely. He looked shocked, or maybe horrified by what he saw before him. He seemed to be holding his breath as he looked upon the body of the mutilated Spartan.

Brandon had to admit, he was one helluva good actor. He wasn't going to let this playing dumb routine fool him. Brandon would make sure he regretted every last scratch on Alison, but right now he had to help her.

He pulled a can of biofoam from the medkit and began to spray down Alison's many injuries with with the pale, white foam. It filled the many gashes that covered her torso, her arms, and face. He had to draw out a second can before he had covered even half of her many injuries. As he continued with his procedure Alison did her best to hold still, but Brandon could see the pain in her eyes as the substances sealed her injuries and the stinging of the disinfectant became a near full body burn. He wanted to do anything to ease her pain and comfort her, but right now he just needed to make sure she got out of here alive.

When he sealed the last major gash he threw away the can and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Alison, can you walk?" He asked.

Her eyes opened painfully at his question, and she pushed herself shakily off of the wall. She tried to hide her pain as much as she could, bringing herself to her feet much faster than any normal person with these kinds of injuries could. When she was on her feet she nodded down at him, pain and fatigue still weighing in her eyes.

She glanced down at him coldly and efficiently. The passion she had let him see for the past few days was all gone. There wasn't any anger in her, there wasn't any joy, there was just all consuming hurt that she was fighting to ignore. She tried to walk past him, but he put a hand on her shoulder to stop her.

"Are you going to be ok?" Said Brandon as she began to move towards the door.

She tried to spin on a dime, just as she normally could, but Brandon saw the pain shoot through her was her eyes clamped shut and she stopped turning. When she pealed them open the same dead look was in her eyes as she met his gaze.

"Please, focus on the mission Lieutenant. I'll be fine," she said robotically.

Brandon knew it was a lie through her teeth. He momentarily considered pulling a stretcher from one of the nearby medical stations and making her lay down on it, but he knew it was pointless arguing with her. Brandon stood, and followed her out the door of the cell.

Alison accepted a rifle from Devereaux as she exited and then dashed towards the end of the hallway, where Mal and Vaz were fighting off a URF squad. They had positioned Captain Lassiter and the robotic dolly with the URF device in an alcove to keep the URF from trying to destroy it or take it back. Although Brandon could tell the captain wasn't going anywhere, he could see that the device had taken extensive damage.

Brandon couldn't help but find it ludicrous that they were putting so much trouble into protecting that device now, when they hardly even knew what it was used for. For all they knew it could be god's own thermonuclear wrecking ball, or a giant, flashy paper weight, and yet Alison had gone through all that she had simply to figure out what it was used for. They needed to pay back the URF a little.

 _No_ , thought Brandon, _no more thoughts like those. Stay alive, then revenge._

When Alison reached Mal and Vaz she pushed them to the side with a large hand and leaned out of the hallway. The torture didn't appear to have damaged her superior reflexes. She immediately opened up on the URF squad, switching her rifle to semi-automatic as she began firing 7.62 slugs with deadly precision, taking out trooper after trooper with well placed shots to center mass. One or two of them tried to run, but Alison pursued, putting two rounds into the back of one of the troopers, and then grabbing the other one by the shoulders and slamming him face first into the wall, killing him.

She paused for a brief moment and took a few long, pained breaths, and then turned to continue moving down the hallway with the ODSTs in tow, but when she turned her back to Brandon, he began to see the extent of the damage she had taken. The biofoam that Brandon had used to seal her back and upper arms had been ripped away by her exertions, letting blood run freely through her tattered tank top and down her arms to her finger tips. It wasn't enough to cause her to bleed out, but it was bad. She needed to lay off and rest now.

Brandon sprinted up next to her and grabbed her arm. He wasn't going to let her tear herself apart like this. He wasn't sure he could do anything to stop a seven foot tall super soldier, but damned if he wasn't going to try.

"Alison, stop," he demanded.

She hardly gave him a second glance before dashing forward once again, now out of his reach. She wasn't going to stop. She might be a miracle of bioengineering, capable of leveling a city block by herself, but she wasn't machine, and she was going to rip herself to pieces in a blind rage. This torture had awakened a new, self destructive side of her Brandon hadn't seen before.

The hangar wasn't far in front of her now. She had run past the URF defenders the ODSTs had taken out, but just before she reached the service entrance to the hangar, the pain became too much for her. She collapsed on to the floor, soaked in blood and on the verge of tears. Her genetic augmentations, her carbide bones, her overclocked immune system, they all did nothing to keep her moving on.

The ODSTs caught up a moment later, dragging Lassiter with them and hastily zip cuffing him to some pipes once they arrived. They were panting, confused, and weary of the out of control Spartan they had on their hands. As Mal and Vaz moved to secure the door Devereaux knelt down next to Alison, pulled zipcuffs from her vest, and showed them to Brandon, silently asking if she should restrain her for her own good.

Brandon glared daggers at her. With as much as Alison had been through in the last few moments, she didn't need to be put through any more confinement or abuse, certainly not by her own team. Brandon slid her rifle away from her and moved so he could look at her face. She was on her hands and knees, dripping blood and panting. The gashes had began to coagulate already thanks to a genetic tag modification she had received, but she was far from healthy.

"Alison," he said gently.

She looked up at him weakly and met his eyes. Even in a crouched position like this she was still noticeably larger than him, but she seemed to have lost her strength.

"Alison, we're going to get you out of here, but I need you to stay right here for a moment and rest, alright?"

Alison dropped her head and nodded in defeat. She had neither the strength nor the will to keep fighting or to argue with him. She moved only far enough to slump back against the wall, and then stopped moving altogether.

Brandon stood from his crouched position and motioned for Devereaux to stack on the hangar door. The three ODSTs set up against the door and prepared to rush it while Brandon braced himself against the other side of it, rifle at the ready.

"Three, two, one," he counted down, and then pressed the release.

The door slid open and revealed a hangar in much the same condition the ODSTs had left it. The automated chain gun they had set up in the rear of the pelican was scanning the room for potential targets, and judging by the amount of bullet holes in the various doors that surrounded the hangar, it had found quite a few in the half an hour the ODSTs had been gone. Fortunately they had returned before it had run out of ammunition.

They moved as one through the door. Mal and Vaz laid down fire across the hangar as Dev made a run for the pelican's cockpit. In a mad sprint she managed to make it to the Pelican's open loading ramp, showing the automated chain gun and rolling barricade out of the way. Mal and Vaz jumped on to the boarding ramp and grabbed hand holds as Dev spun the pelican around so the loading ramp was facing the door Brandon was still in cover behind, and so that her nose was facing another door way which currently harbored a group of URF security personnel. She opened up on them with her 30mm chain gun, killing most of them instantly and scaring the rest of them enough to burry them behind cover. She wasn't worried about hull breaches or rules of engagement at this point, all she cared about was getting out of here after seeing the horror story Alison had lived.

Brandon shared her single minded purpose. As Mal and Vaz dropped from the pelican's boarding ramp to lift the forerunner device from the robotic dolly, Brandon knelt down next to Allison and wrapped his arm around her back to support her as she stood. She managed to get to her feat far more easily than anyone in her kind of shape should have, but she was still showing her injuries. Limping, grunting, and gritted teeth gave away how much pain she was in.

Brandon then turned to the section of pipe where he had earlier zip tied up Lassiter, and cut him free. He motioned for Alison to limp to the pelican, which she reluctantly did, before aiming his weapon at the dead center of Lassiter's forehead.

"Get moving," he yelled.

Brandon expected him to run, or maybe to try and wrench the rifle from his hands, anything to stay out of ONI's custody, but instead Lassiter just gave up. Brandon searched his eyes to determine why, but all he found was the same, fake sorrow he had seen before.

It didn't matter though. Now wasn't the time for psychoanalysis. Now was the time for getting the hell out of here.

Brandon ran after Lassiter and jumped to board the pelican. The moment he was on board Mal slammed the boarding ramp's close button, and Devereaux brought the pelican around so the nose faced the open void. She fired the afterburners full force and propelled kilo-5 five out of that hell hole as fast as she could.

Brandon took a moment once they were clear to appreciate the shock of the whole situation. Where did he start? With the fact that his friend had been tortured, and nearly killed? With the fact that they had just made off with a device that for all they knew could be a giant bomb waiting to blow them all to hell?

He decided maybe he should start with what really needed help. Alison.

She had started herself in to one of the Pelican's many web seats that lined it's sides, and was weakly attempting to hide her injuries. Why at a time like this she would be trying to act tough Brandon would never understand. Then again, she wasn't the first solider to do something similar, and she wouldn't be the last.

Brandon ran over to her and looked her in her bloodshot eyes. She was in very, very bad shape. Her once bright blue eyes were now cloudy and dull. He yanked a stretcher down from the overhead and secured it to the middle of the pelican's deck. He placed a gentle hand on Alison's shoulder, urging her to move to the stretcher even as she continued to fold in on herself.

"Alison, I need to check you out. Whatever the hell they did to you could kill you if I don't."

Alison shook her head and didn't move. It wasn't as if Brandon could pick her up and move her, so he resorted to pleading.

"Alison, please," he begged.

Alison looked up at him with hurt in her eyes. She looked broken and just about ready to give up. She was looking for something, anything from him to reassure her she was safe, and that she would be alright.

"I'm not going to let anyone hurt you," he said finally.

Brandon didn't expect a promise like that to mean anything to her, but surprisingly it was just enough to get her to comply. She rose from her seat and limped over to the stretcher with Brandon's help. She laid down. Her feet dangled off the edge of the stretcher not built for someone of her size.

Brandon moved to secure the Velcro restraints that the stretcher provided around her, but saw fear creep in to her eyes as he ripped open one of them and looped it around her wrist. They really weren't meant to restrain the person on the stretcher so much as they were meant to keep them from bouncing around the cabin during slipspace transit. Anyone could break out of them, and Alison would certainly have no trouble, but he could tell that just the thought of being trapped again as she had been on that station, cold and bloody and alone, was more than she could bare.

He stopped short and moved to the head of the stretcher, kneeling down next to her. The ODSTs were already tending to her wounds, and although her augmentation's were working hard to repair the damage done to her body, they were still working.

What she needed most right now was human comfort.

"Alison," he said softly, "I am so, so sorry. I should have fought harder, I shouldn't have been so stupid as to think they believed our cover stories. We should have aborted the moment they caught us looking around. I should..."

In the middle of his sentence, he felt her hand moved from the side of the stretcher and reach over silently towards him. When she found his right hand, she grasped it tightly and closed her eyes. Then, for reasons unknown, she began to hum. Her tone was soft and melodic, not something he expected from someone of her strength and size. He was baffled by the action, and took a moment to try and decipher what she was trying to do. It was only when she pulled his hand closer to her and forced a weak smile that lasted for barely a second before pain over took it, that he realized she was trying to comfort him.

Why would she do such a thing for someone who had screwed up as much as he had? She had done no wrong to deserve the injuries that covered her body and the blood that had drenched her clothes. Her only fault was being placed under the command of Lieutenant David Brandon. He should have known the moment he set eyes on her that she would end up suffering, just like everyone else he had ever lead did. Anything that could possibly go wrong on an operation lead by him, did go wrong every time without fail.

He didn't deserve her kindness. She should be giving him a black eye right about now, but here she was, comforting him. He wasn't sure if God had decided this was the best way to mock all of his many failures, or if it simply spoke to her kindness.

He wasn't able to decided until a moment later when the humming stopped. The ODSTs had just finished patching her up and setting her wounds, and now looked down at the Lieutenant. Brandon watched as her breathing slowed and she drifted off in to sleep.

Blood still dripped from her clothes, despite the sealant that had been applied to her wounds. In spite of her ragged state though, she managed to somehow look peaceful. No press release or piece of propaganda had ever described a Spartan as peaceful. To the UNSC Spartans were just weapons of war, but he knew the real Alison.

She was good. She didn't deserve any of what had befallen her. She deserved the rest she was experiencing now in slumber, not the constant barrage of abuse she had received from the URF, and not the even more personal and shameful abuse she would receive from the UNSC upon her return.

Brandon began to feel his anger boiled over. Her own people had treated her horrible for most of her life, and yet when the UNSC's enemies came knocking, they had decided to abuse and neglect her, and not admiral Osman, or any of the other hundreds or maybe thousands of people that deserved it far more than she did.

He needed to get his anger out. He couldn't take it out on the ODSTs. They were assholes, but for the most part they were just as innocent as any other rank and file soldier in the UNSC. Working for Osman made them no more or less evil. The one person on this craft, however, who had instigated evil, and who had put someone who deserved far better through hell, and back, was Lassiter.

When Brandon looked up and saw him staring right back at him, his eyes full of pity, Brandon snapped like a twig. This man was a fraud. This man could feel no remorse. No one with a soul could do to a human being what he had done to Alison. He deserved to be punished in the only way he would ever understand. Raw pain.

Brandon stood quickly and marched over to the restrained man, fist clenched. The moment he was within striking distance he took a swing at him, hitting him square in the jaw as hard as he could. Brandon's hand hurt like hell from the impact, but the hurt was obscured by the sweet high of revenge. He had a single minded purpose, and that was to make this man suffer.

"You inhuman piece of shit," he spat at Lassiter before throwing another punch straight in to his gut, causing him to double over.

"How can you live with yourself?" He questioned, "how can you do that to a living, breathing person and sleep at night?"

Brandon didn't listen to Lassiter's response for any real length of time. Most of it was him sucking wind while he wailed about how he had had nothing to do with it.

Brandon's response was to reach for the baton that still sat on Lassiter's pistol belt and flick it open, before turning it on him savagely and beating him with it. He only managed to get one strike in before he felt an arm grab him from behind.

He spun to find Vaz facing him, a look of surprise on his now unhelmeted head.

"What the hell Army guy?" He asked as he tried to grab the baton, but Brandon shoved him away before turning back to Lassiter.

He was now bloody and bruised, just like his Spartan victim, but Brandon wanted to make sure he really knew the pain he had caused her. He wound up for another strike, but before he could connect, he felt two arms loop under each of his arm pits. He was lifted off the ground for a moment and then thrown back to the deck, hard. His head swam as he felt himself hit the ground, and his vision blurred. The ODSTs were both on top of him, yelling something at him, but he could hardly understand them. Reflexively, he struggled, trying desperately to get free. They tried to hold him down, but it was clear that they were losing out to Brandon's shear adrenaline.

"Mal, do it," he heard Vaz say, before he saw Mal reach for his utility belt.

He drew something out, and jabbed it in to Brandon's side. For a moment, all he felt was a sharp pain, and then he began to feel more relaxed. He knew what they had injected him with. It was something similar to the sedative the URF had used on them only hours ago, but engineered by ONI and the UNSC to be much nastier. It was meant to be given to prisoners of war who had just been captured. It was a sedative that wasn't powerful enough to put someone asleep immediately, but just disorienting enough to make them submissive to their captor's commands until they did. In this case, it would work perfectly to keep him off of Lassiter.

When it finally took hold, he felt the ODSTs release him and then begin to help him up. They half guided, half dragged him to one of the seats on the side of the pelican, and strapped him in for the flight. His thoughts were clouded. He could barely make heads or tails of why he had felt angry a moment ago, but what he did know was that the last thing he saw before he blacked out was Alison, still laying peacefully on her cot. The sight of her made the very last bits of that anger evaporate from him.

She was good, so good, and he cared very much about her. He hadn't felt this way about someone any time in his recent memory.

She made him feel ways that he handy in a long time, ways that court only be described with words he hadn't used in a long time. Peaceful, content, comforted, and happy were all uncommon words in his vocabulary, but Alison made all of them come to the forefront of his mind.

He certainly hadn't thought about using a word like love in a very long time, but he couldn't think of another word to better describe how he felt about her. He had fallen for her over these few short days, and all it took was the image of her sleeping and one hundred CCs of nothing good to finally show him that.


	13. Chapter 13: Casualties

**"It's easier to expend material in combat than to fill out the forms for Graves Registration."**

 **-expert from Murphy's laws of combat operations**

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Location: UNSC Murphy's law, standoff distance from Forerunner installation X50, 02:05 standard military time, January 6th, 2559

* * *

Brandon's head had never hurt so bad in his life, and that was no small feat to accomplish. He had a lot of explosions, gunshots, air strikes, and ship crashes to compare this feeling to, as well as the hangovers he had had while trying to forget all of those things had ever happened, but this was by far the worst.

It was so intense that he could hardly remember where he was, or how he had ended up in so much pain. Had he stupidly gotten drunk while on an assignment from ONI? No, he wasn't dumb enough to be an alcoholic like his dad and he would like to think he had a few more brain cells than the average ODST.

Maybe the URF had caught him and hit him too hard or in the wrong spot. No, that was even more absurd. After all, Alison was with him. He might not have known Alison for very long, but he knew she would have protected him. When he had first seen her he wouldn't have taken her for the caring type, but talking to her revealed something very different. Her exterior was cold, but her tone, her words, and especially her actions radiated safety. Even without her armor, her confidence made it seem like no one and nothing could touch her, and the same went for anyone lucky enough to fall under her protection.

He didn't want to open his eyes. He knew the light would just aggravate his pain, so he decided to slowly slide his hand around to find out where he was.

His hands ran over the sheets of the bed beneath him, causing him to sigh and smile. They were soft, and warm, much more so than he remembered his bed in the old, ratty URF hotel being. Maybe that was just because, compared to his headache, anything else felt like heaven. His hands wandered over past his bed to his nightstand, and he found it was not the same at all as the one in his hotel room. It was smooth, cold, and metallic. His handgun wasn't where he had left it, and the only things he found on the table were very dull scissors, a tiny knife, and metal tray.

Wait, no. Those were forceps, a scalpel, and a surgical tray. Was he in the hospital or something?

Now his head really hurt, and he really, desperately needed to remember what had happened. He didn't want to do it, but after a minute of procrastinating he sucked it up and pealed open his eyes.

Blinding white light flooded his vision and sent a lance of pain straight through his brain. He groaned, and rolled over on to his side, suddenly beginning to feel disoriented. The bed was a whole lot narrower than he expected, and in his haste he sloppily rolled over on to the floor, narrowly avoiding hitting his head on its smooth metal surface.

"Lieutenant," he heard a voice call out to him.

It was distorted, but definitely British, and sounded just a little bit synthesized. He tried to reply but the words simply didn't come.

"Lieutenant," it repeated again, "are you alright?"

"I...I'm ffffiiinnne," he managed to stutter out in response to the voice's incessant questioning. Never in his life had he simply wanted someone to be quiet. Every sound and every bit of light hurt.

He stumbled and tried to stand, but ended up hitting his head on the nightstand. The pain he felt from the impact was intense, but it's jarred him out of his blindness and cleared up his distorted hearing slightly. Why was it that a good old fashioned slap on the head never failed to fix all his problems.

He let himself relax back on to the floor, and stopped fighting. The British voice sighed loudly at his predicament, and then went quiet.

"Mal, Vaz, and Devereaux to the infirmary," it called.

Wait, thought Brandon, how did Mal, Vaz, and Devereaux get here?"

Brandon was still trying to sort through his confusing situation when he finally let himself settle on to his back and look up at the ceiling. His eyes focused, and slowly, a logo came in to view. It was the emblem of the UNSC _Murphy's law_ , which bore ONI's all seeing eye in the center, and the message: _UNSC Murphy's Law, PWR 072, "For when everything goes wrong,"_ around the outside. He surveyed the room for any sign of where on the ship he was, and found himself staring at the four white walls of an infirmary room. It was small, maybe ten by seven feet, and medical equipment was littered everywhere. He looked over himself to see what he had been brought here to address, and felt a scar near his lower ribs from surgery.

Instantly, his memory came flooding back to him. It started when the rubber shotgun slug hit him during the URF kidnapping, then the station, finding Alison's tortured form, wailing on Lassiter, and finally being drugged by the ODSTs. Had he simply wanted to forget all that? Maybe he had forced it into his subconscious so he wouldn't have to remember the unspeakable horrors he had witnessed being committed against an innocent woman.

Regardless, he couldn't forget them now. He was certain those memories would stay with him for the rest of his life, along with so many others he had collected over the course of the war.

When his mind once again became semi-settled, the first thing he did was push himself shakily to his feet.

 _Alison_ , he thought, _where is Alison?_

That was all he could concern himself with right now. He needed to know she was alive and ok. He needed to make sure she knew that she didn't haven to suffer like that any more. He needed to make sure she felt safe.

He tired to stumble towards the door, but bumped in to the small medical table he had been talking on before, and face planted on to the mattress. He sighed. In this state he could hardly help himself, how was he supposed to help her?

He lay there for a brief moment, waiting for help, until the ODSTs came through the door a moment later.

Without preamble, Devereaux grabbed him by the shoulder and flipped him over so his back was laying on the bed, while Mal and Vaz held him down. Brandon half heartedly struggled against their restraints, but didn't manage to get free before Devereaux swiped the inside of his arm with a cotton swab and administered another shot. When she pulled the needle free the other ODSTs settled him back on to the bed and then let him go.

As the fluid from the shot began to course through his body he briefly drifted in to blackness, and then a moment later, his eye snapped open. His head finally felt clear, and when he flexed his fingers he found his fine motor skills had returned to him.

Devereaux slapped him, just enough to hurt, on the cheek to wake him up. She smiled, and laughed as he fidgeted and turned to face her.

"Hey Army guy. Welcome back to the land of the living," she said excitedly, "That shot should have flushed your veins of any of the shit Mal and Vaz put into you. You feeling alright?"

Before Brandon could even find a way to articulate how much he hated the three special forces troopers that currently surrounded him, he was once again punched in the shoulder by them. This time, it was Vaz's doing.

"Of course he's alright," said Vaz with a cocky smile, "he found himself a girlfriend in that backwater shit hole."

Brandon looked at the man with confusion. Which girl was he referring to?

Mal decided to answer the unspoken question for him.

"And of all the girls in the galaxy he picked a Spartan," said Mal with a laugh, "and I thought only you were in to tall, dark, brooding, and deadly."

The comment was clearly directed at Vaz, which confused the hell out of Brandon. He didn't receive an explanation however, just a glare, that was more friendly than anything, traded between the two ODSTs before their attention jumped back to him.

Brandon glared right back at them. How in the hell did they get the impression he and Alison had gotten together? How did they knew he even liked her? Was it just ODSTs bullshit, or had they taken their exchange in the back of the pelican as romantic?

For a moment, Brandon found himself wishing it had been romantic. What if she truly did feel the same way he felt? What if she had fallen for him as he had fallen for her?

A moment later he reminded himself how stupid it was to even think about this. Alison was traumatized, not to mention the fact that she probably still hated him. The last thing he should be thinking about is romantic gestures. Right now he just need to help her heal.

"Where's Alison," said Brandon, "I need to see her."

At the mention of her name, the ODSTs became a bit more solemn and serious. They exchanged glances, before Devereaux, the only one of the group who could remotely be described as gentle, spoke up.

"Lieutenant," she said kindly, "you do remember what happened to her. Right?"

Brandon nodded, and pushed himself into a sitting position. He remembered far too well. In fact, he was fairly certain he would never forget seeing Alison in the state she had been in.

"Then you might want to give yourself a minute to recover before seeing her," she continued, "Alison is still in awful bad shape. I think you just need to rest..."

But Brandon was already swinging his legs over the side of the bed before she even finished.

"Please, just tell me here she is," he said pointedly.

There wasn't any anger or insistence in his voice, just the words of a hurt man who needed to atone for what he had done to someone else. Devereaux looked him in the eye, and sighed. She knew there wasn't a way to stop him. She had no doubt seen, or been in, this situation before. Just about everyone in the UNSC had at some point.

"She's in the surgical wing sir. Osman didn't want to move her after the autosurgeon finished working on her," she said formally.

Then, to Brandon's surprise, she raised her hand and offered him a crisp salute. Moments later the other ODSTs followed.

Brandon knew this was a true gesture of respect from them. Tensions had run high between the Army and the Navy for a long time, and particularly during the war, and as always, ODSTs always took small conflicts way too far. Many ODST units were known to never salute Army officers, and frequently refused to show them respect in any form. Many an officer had tried to correct their problem, and many had failed. No amount of punishment could make an ODST give up their pride.

This truly was a gesture of respect from these three.

Brandon slowly raised his hand to return the salute.

"Carry on Sergeant," he said simply, then dropped his hand.

Without another word the three ODSTs filed out, leaving him alone in the infirmary room. Brandon looked around the room until he found a set of ACUs that had been perfectly folded and laid out for him. He changed out of his hospital gown and slid into them.

Once he had them on, he actually sighed. It felt good to not be wearing a disguise any longer. He was himself again. He didn't have to worry about blowing his cover or saying something stupid. In a way, it was like coming home.

He took a moment to look himself over in the mirror. His beard had grown out over the last few days, from the short stubble he normally had to something a little more noticeable. It now completely covered the scar on his jaw. Two scars on both his cheeks had replaced it, however. Both had been given to him by Lassiter during his brief interrogation.

He shook his head and rubbed his tired, darkened, hazel eyes. He shouldn't be complaining about scratches. Alison, his teammate, had left this mission with real scars.

He exited the small cubicle and came in to the larger medbay. It consisted of three more doors, leading to cubicles like his arranged in an half-octagonal pattern, with the other half being dominated by a large, glassed off surgical wing. Or, at least, large for a navy ship that was. The 15 by 15 foot room would no doubt be considered small in most hospitals.

Inside, Alison lay on the bed, her knees tucked to her chest and her eyes staring blankly forward while Osman sat at her bedside. She was ragged looking, with old and new scars covering her body. He noticed that some of them had faded or been erased, which was no doubt the autosurgeon's work. Sometimes the UNSC offered cosmetic reconstructive surgery to curb the psychological effects of major trauma on the human mind. Thankfully, it looked as though Osman had been kind enough to provide some to Alison.

It hadn't, however, fixed everything. The gridlock of scars that crisscrossed her body was simply something that would be too exhausting and difficult to repair, even for a machine.

Brandon watched from the doorway as Osman tried to comfort Alison from her bedside.

Osman bore a hurt look on her face, revealing a tender side of her that Brandon would not have believed existed had he not seen it for himself. Her eyes gazed wearily upon Alison's silent, stunned form, seeming to search for any way to help the deeply hurt Spartan recover.

She gently reached out her hand and brushed it against Alison's tenderly, hoping to comfort her. Alison hardly moved at the touch, and had Brandon not have had time to observe her before, he wouldn't have noticed how she tensed, and how her eyes snapped forward, letting pain flow through them as bloody memories moved to the forefront of her mind.

Brandon knew that her skin and clothes may be clean now, but deep down, bean wth the skin, the blood still stained her.

"I know sister," whispered Osman when Alison tensed, "I know."

Sister? Thought Brandon, how could Alison be her sister?

Brandon thought for a minute, and then made the connection. Osman must have been a Spartan. It would explain how she had risen so far through the ranks, and her tough demeanor. In a lot of ways, she was like Alison. She was tough, she was to the point, and she was loyal to a fault. However, she wasn't nearly as compassionate, or kind, or empathetic as Alison. Osman was a good sailor, Alison was a whole person.

He watched as the Admiral stood from her place at Alison's bedside and leaned in to Alison, as though she was going to give her a sisterly kiss on the forehead, but stopped short when Alison tensed once again.

Osman sighed, and then backed away.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, "take care sister."

When Osman turned around to find Brandon standing there, somewhere between shock, horror, and wonder. She didn't seem surprised, however. She walked quickly to the door and immediately put her professional walls up, blocking out the kind side of her he had just seen for the first time.

"Lieutenant, I didn't know what happened between you on Taurus 6," she said pointedly as she exited the door, "but you've made one hell of an impression on Alison."

Brandon didn't know how to respond to that. He hoped it had a positive meaning. He hoped that in some small way he had made Alison feel less like a machine than she thought she was, but he couldn't claim to have succeeded.

"The only word she's said since she woke up was your name," continued Osman, and then she stopped, tender hurt returning to her eyes.

"She's in pain Brandon. I don't know how much you can do for her, but if seeing you would make her feel better, then by all means, sit with her. I'll debrief you later."

Brandon looked her in the eye, and then saluted. He knew Osman didn't need to show him this side of her, but clearly her respect for him had shot through the roof over his treatment of Alison.

"Yes ma'am."

Osman saluted in return, and then walked off silently

He entered the room without a sound and sat next to her quietly, smiling brightly at her. He tried his best to relax his posture, his face, any part of him that could contain tension. God knows she had had enough tension already.

"Hey Alison," he said kindly, "How are you feeling?"

Another long, blank stare followed his question. She didn't tense, she didn't make a sound. Really she didn't move at all. Was this what it has come to? What did the URF really do to her back there? Clearly it went beyond just physical torture. She could have resisted that easily. This was something else. Something deeply, mentally painful had been done to her.

His mind immediately jumped to the worst. Had they raped her? What else could make someone this distraught. God if he ever found out which ones of them had touched her he would personally kill them slowly and painfully.

He felt tension coming over himself once again, and noticed Alison was now looking at him out of the corner of her eye. No part of her had moved other than her eyes. Concerned was etched in them, however.

Brandon tried to remember to relax and not to show her he was tense over this. There would be time to make the URF pay later. Right now Alison just needed a friend.

"Alison, if you want to talk about what happened to you with anyone, I'm here, you know that?" He said gently.

When she didn't move or say anything, he decided to add, "or not. I'm not going to force you to say anything you don't want to. And I can leave if that would make you more comfortable."

For a moment it didn't look like Alison was going to react to either of those statements, but as Brandon relaxed back in to his chair he felt her hand slowly move over to touch his. Without a word, she wrapped her fingers around his, intertwining them so they were locked together and then pressing down with a firm grip. It wasn't as firm as it would be if she was at her full strength, but it was still much stronger than any average person.

Brandon didn't get the feeling she was going to let go any time soon.

Brandon let a broad smile cross his face as he felt the warmth and security of her hand wrapped around his. There was something about her strength that made anyone feel safe around her, and a grip like this did feel quiet secure and safe. He put his other hand over the top of Alison's, taking in her warmth. He felt guilty for enjoying the crazy amount of heat put out by her augmented metabolism, but Alison didn't seem to mind the gesture either, so he kept it there.

"Everything is going to be alright," he said to her, before the two of them drifted into a simple, companionable silence.


	14. Chapter 14: Guilt

**AN: And we're back! here's a fairly long chapter to make up for the length between update times. Thanks so much to Jaeger Gypsy Danger for Betaing this. You should check her out. She's easily one of my favorite writers on this site, and has a way of kindly showing me how much of a dumbass I can be while also pushing me to let my writing flow more naturally.**

 **I also think that this week's Murphy's Law of Combat may just be Brandon's life motto. XD**

 **As always, feel free to let me know what you think of this chapter. I always apreciate it.**

* * *

 **"The most dangerous thing in the world is a Second Lieutenant with a map and a compass."**

 **-excerpt from Murphy's Laws of Combat Operations**

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Location: UNSC _Murphy's law_ , standoff distance from Forerunner installation X50, 07:16 standard military time, January 7th, 2559

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Brandon sat in a chair, examining the wall of the brig of the _Murphy's Law_ as he mentally prepared himself for what was about to come. A few hour ago, Brandon was given a short debrief by Osman and asked in detail what went on aboard the station and how they extracted the device. Brandon gave her as much detail as he could, but honestly, he spent most of his time on the station locked in a very small room. The rest was fuzzy due to the effects of multiple sedatives and the rush of a firefight.

Osman didn't keep him for long, however. After the debrief she asked him to be the one to interrogate Lassiter when he finally woke up in the brig. Brandon told her that he wasn't sure he could do as she asked, mainly because after what he saw done to Alison he might be too brutal of an interrogator. Osman disregarded Brandon's concerns and ordered him to do the job anyway. Brandon wondered if that was what she was counting on. Maybe she wanted him to treat Lassiter brutally. She was Alison's Spartan-sister after all. Maybe she wanted to see this man suffer just as much as he or any other member of the crew.

Brandon tried not to think about his own bloodlust. Throughout his career he fought to keep himself away from the cynicism that developed in soldiers who fought for too long and saw too much. Some of that was unavoidable. He still remembered the rush of adrenaline he got from putting a bullet through the head of an Elite that killed one of his soldiers during his first battle on Skopje, a world that was now glassed. He remembered watching the bullet enter the Alien's skull and exit in a plume of blue blood, and the flood of satisfaction that came a moment later when he was finally able to know for sure that this squid-lipped sonofabitch will never harm another human being ever again.

This feeling didn't stay with him for long.

He distinctly remembered the feeling of guilt that washed over him like cold water when the adrenaline high of the kill died. It sent chills down his spine and snapped him back to the reality that he just took a life. It made him remember that his job wasn't something to be enjoyed. It was necessary, and that was felt awful for a good, long while after that, but he came to love that feeling. As long as he felt that way, no matter how bad it hurt, he knew that deep down under the many layers of armor and unhealthy coping mechanisms his human soul still resided.

When he looked at Lassiter, however, he felt next to nothing by the way of empathy. Brandon's heart raced as he imagined himself walking up to the man, placing a gun to his head, and blowing his brains out all over that table. On any other day he wouldn't allow the gruesome thought in his mind, but today he felt that was far too or are you dignified a death for someone like him. He wanted Lassiter to die slowly. He wanted him to feel every ounce of pain he dealt to Alison and then some. He wanted to leave him to rot in his pain and suffering until his body finally gave out in agony.

Brandon's fists clenched white-knuckle tight as he tried to force these thoughts from his head. If he kept thinking of Lassiter as less than human, that was exactly what he would become. He saw it happen to too many other soldiers. His heart pounded and his breath quickened as he fought to regain control of his own mind. Oh what he wouldn't give for someone to sedate him for the sixth time this OP.

He was nearly ready to storm out of the holding area when an entirely different thought crossed his mind. This time it wasn't of Lassiter, death, or heinous crimes. It was of the woman who was the target of them. Alison.

He thought back to 48 hours ago when the two of them left that hellhole of a URF station. He remembered Alison lying on a stretcher in the back of the pelican, looking over at him with bright, blue eyes dimmed with fatigue and pain and forcing a smile. As though she was right next to him, he heard her begin to hum to him in her even, melodic tone. The sound of it went beyond comforting. He felt every note of it restore a little piece of his humanity.

His breathing began to slow. His fists slowly loosened and fell open. He still couldn't bring himself to feel remorse for Lassiter, but lessening his anger was a start. Slowly but surely he recovered. He rubbed his eyes, ran a finger through his short-cropped hair that had had a rare chance to grow over the last week, and let out a long breath.

 _You're ok,_ Brandon promised himself, _you're ok._

Brandon wrung his cold hands together as he sat and watched the bank of monitors in the brig that showed what was happening in each of the tiny cells as he waited for Lassiter's sleeping form to wake from his drug-induced slumber finally. The cold became more powerful as he thought about it more, to the point where it became nearly painful. Brandon was beginning to wonder what was happening to his hands until he remembered how warm they felt an hour ago when he was at Alison's bedside, her fingers wrapped around his and her warmth running through him.

He wondered, for a moment, if Alison actually was that warm or if his mind was merely playing tricks on him. Maybe his attraction to her tricked him into remembering more heat than there actually was. He doubted it, however. It wasn't as if it would be an exception to how amazing she was. Her physique could rival anyone alive. Her body was toned and muscular, yet her hips were still curvy and feminine and her legs were long, like some kind of Greek goddess. Even her bulky armor couldn't mask her gracefulness. Her long, dark hair really got him when he had seen it for the first time out of the bun she normally kept it tied up in. Alison was warm, kind, protective, she could be forceful when she needed to be and gentle when she wanted to be. Her bright blue eyes were deep, and her skin was surprisingly soft and comforting for someone who fought for a living. The strength of her hands wrapped around his fingers made him feel safe, and, whoa.

How did his mind gotten on this track again?

Fraternization policy wasn't really what would get between them. As Brandon knew, it was a long war, and nearly everyone in the UNSC breached fraternization policy at one point or another.

In a world where comfort and affection was something a soldier might not be able to find for years at a time, soldiers often gave little thought to what the Army would think of them for being in a relationship with a teammate, or, more likely, just having casual sex. He could count the number of times this ended well on one hand with fingers to spare, but that didn't stop him or anyone else.

No, he knew the real reason was that if he allowed himself to get too close to Alison, anything that could go wrong inevitably would go wrong for her. The war made Brandon a superstitious man, at least concerning that old law. Before he left her Alison began to feel a bit better. She didn't say anything, but she was moving, silently insisting on getting to her feet. Before he left a smile even crossed her face. The image of her huddled and frightened out of her mind over what happened to her just hours before still lodged itself in his mind, along with the thought of how, is was anyone but herself, she would still be in the same position. He cared for her too much to let something like that happen to her again. Like it or not, he was utterly cursed.

This fact proved itself when he looked up at the monitors once again. Lassiter was writhing in his seat, his hands tied behind his back and his head face down on a stainless steel table, etched with the ONI logo.

He's awake, thought Brandon, great.

The image of Alison's blood spattered form lying prone on a cell floor; cold, alone, and left for dead still haunted him. Even if he didn't do it to her personally, he ordered it, or at least condoned it, and all of those notions made Brandon feel equally sick. Brandon felt Brandon felt the rage slowly building, twisting and burning him from the inside. Like an uncontrolled brush fire, destroying everything it touched. He wanted to kill this man. Something cold settled over Brandon's heart. This man had no regard for human life. Brandon would return the favor.

Brandon glanced over to Devereaux, who was leaning against the brig doorframe. Evidently, she saw the man wake as well. Brandon glanced at Devereaux, who was leaning against the bulkhead of the open hatchway. The movement of her hands as she racked the slide of her handgun and the metallic sound of it slamming into battery drew his eyes from her face and to her hands. Brandon swallowed hard at the sound of her weapon.

"I've got your back LT," she said gesturing to the monitors. "Make him pay."

There was a neutral expression on her face that was characteristic of ODSTs who were told to harm someone, but it masked the true empathy for Alison Brandon knew she possessed. She was just as disturbed and angered by Lassiter's treatment of Alison as he was, and she wanted to see justice all the same.

Without a word, Brandon stood and moved to the cell, slamming the button on its exterior to open the door and entering. He removed his pistol from its holster and set it on a table outside the cell. He picked up a shock baton and sparked it, eliciting a satisfying crack of electricity. If he felt any remorse for this man before it was now completely gone. He stepped through the cell's threshold, allowing the door to close behind him.

 _Oh, I will Devereaux_ , he thought as he approached Lassiter, who was still face down on the table as the drugs in his system slowly lost their effect. _Don't worry_.

Wordlessly, Brandon set the baton to its maximum voltage and planted it right between Lassiter's shoulder blades. Lassiter cried out in pain and jerked violently as his muscles convulsed and he tried to escape the pain. He couldn't, however. Only when Brandon's merciful hand pulled the baton away, was he allowed a brief moment of respite from the violent electricity.

Brandon reached down and grabbed Lassiter around his jaw, jerking Lassiter's face up and forcing him to look Brandon straight in the eye. His eyes were bloodshot and dazed. He was given the same drug as Brandon to subdue him, so he was in no better shape than Brandon was when he woke up hours ago.

"You think that sucked?" Brandon asked the confused man, "I'll tell you what really, fucking sucked!"

Brandon reached into his pocket and pulled out an image he took from Devereaux's helmet recording of Alison laying on the floor of her cell, covered in blood with Brandon's forehead pressed to hers and his arms wrapped around her in desperation to revive her. The image still made him sick, but he could bear to look at it of it meant Lassiter knew what he did to a living, breathing human being.

Brandon grabbed Lassiter by his hair and forced him to stare at the image.

"Look at it," he demanded. "See what you did to this person? This person who has a heart, a mind, a soul, and people who love and care about her?"

Lassiter's glassy eyes looked at the image with what could only be described as horror. Even he couldn't fathom what he did to Alison.

Good, you bastard, thought Brandon. I want you to lie awake at night and dream about this image for the rest of your short life.

"I didn't…..No...I didn't," stammered Lassiter as he stared blankly at the image.

"You didn't what?" Interrupted Brandon, his anger building, boiling over, until without thinking he slammed the man's head down to the table, breaking his nose with a sickening crack. Blood ran onto the stainless steel, pooling under his face and staining his cheek. Brandon sparked the baton once again, but he never swung it.

Blood. That was what set Brandon off. More precisely the sight of blood on an interrogation table. The sight of Alison's cowering form flashed before his eyes. Blood was everywhere. Blood all over her, blood all over her cell, blood that was spilled by Lassiter.

His eyes snapped back to the mess in front of him. Blood all over Lassiter. Blood all over the table. Blood that he spilled. As he stared blankly at Lassiter's coughing and writhing form, he slowly began to back away.

He was no better than Lassiter. Brandon hurt him in the same way he hurt Alison. He tortured him and made him bleed while he sat, trapped and helpless to defend himself against Brandon's onslaught.

"I didn't hurt her..." Lassiter pleaded as he tried to peel his head from the table.

His attempt was cut short by a fit of coughing that sprayed blood onto the table and his glassy eyes rolled shut from pain.

"Ramirez. Daniel Ramirez. That's who you're looking for."

Every word he spoke was accompanied by blood leaking onto the table in front of him. It pooled below his mouth and dripped down his chin when he raised his head. He looked even more broken than when Kilo-5 found him. Maybe he wasn't just the asshole who hurt Alison. Brandon knew better than anyone that no one in the military knew everything that was going on, even within their own command.

Maybe he didn't do this at all.

Brandon abruptly spun around without a word and headed for the cell door. He needed to get out of here. He couldn't stand looking Lassiter in the eye and knowing what he did to him, whether he hurt Alison or not. He robotically set down his baton on the way out of the cell and holstered his service pistol. He made a break for the door.

Devereaux had other ideas, however. She was still leaning against the door, right where she was before. Her hand was no longer on her weapon, and a thin smile graced her face.

"Damn Army guy," she said as he tried to pass her. "You broke him too quickly. Maybe it's not all of what he deserved, but he'll get that soon enough."

Brandon wanted to chew her out, but he knew how much of a hypocrite that would have made him. If he was in his old, amygdala-hijacked state right now, he would have agreed with her completely, but different chemicals were coursing through his veins now. In other words, he felt like absolute shit.

 _Besides_ , he thought, _Devereaux has a right to her cynicism._

This woman was an ODST. She had probably seen the worst this war had to offer ten times over, maybe even more so than him. She probably had a right to how she saw this situation. Brandon, however, was not in the same boat.

He nodded, and made his way around her. He wasn't rude, but he made it clear he wasn't in much of a mood to talk. Devereaux gave him a sideways look, but let him pass.

Brandon marched away from the cell block. He was trying his hardest not to think about what he just did. He used to think only the Covenant were capable of torturing a defenseless human beings, apparently, humanity has it in them just the same as their alien enemies.

He rounded one too many corners too fast as he made his way back to his bunk, and almost ran into someone. He stopped dead before he hit them, and looked up to apologize. To his horror, he found Alison staring right back at him.

It was just his luck it was her. It wasn't like there were many other people on this ship who it could be. Then again, she was supposed to be in bed. From her weary expression to the dark circles under her eyes, Brandon could tell she could use the rest. In typical Spartan fashion, however, she stood with perfect posture and hardened eyes that made her seven foot two frame seem even more intimidating as he looked up at her.

Her stoicism couldn't hide everything, however. She wore an immaculate, Marpat BDU fit to UNSC standards, with the exception of her sleeves being pulled a little further down to hide the fresh scars that adorned her hands, and her collar, which was turned up and velcroed shut to hide the deep gashes on her neck. Alison's restlessness showed as her hands twitched insistently, with her right hand hanging low on her hip where her sidearm was holstered. She looked as unsafe as she felt, ready to draw at a moment's notice if somehow this ship, a place of relative safety, turned into a firefight like every other part of her life.

Her hard eyes were split by cracks of pain and weakness. They looked almost as someone did before crying, but Brandon knew that no tears were coming. This woman lived most of her life on the verge of tears, but allowing herself to find release in that way was something she would never allow herself to do.

"Lieutenant, how are you?" She asked kindly before, in a surprising gesture of nervousness, grabbing the back of her neck.

"Back in the infirmary last night I was only about half conscious," she said apologetically, "I'm truly sorry for behaving like I did. I promise I'm back in fighting shape."

Brandon was suddenly caught in a familiar place of not knowing what to say or how to say it. He wanted, above all, to reassure her. He wanted her to know she didn't do anything wrong. He knew she wasn't just "half conscious," she was terrified and frozen from pure, unadulterated fear at what happened to her. He wanted her to know that feeling that way was human and that she was human just like everyone else. She deserved a moment of weakness every once and awhile.

What he said to her, however, wasn't quite so eloquent

"Alison, how are you awake?" Fell from his lips, his voice etched with concern, "You need to rest. How about I take you back to the infirmary?"

He hoped she would follow his direction and leave to grab some rest, but she didn't. She moved closer to him and smiled down at him.

"I'm fine Brandon. Really," she said dismissively, "Osman's on the bridge right now talking with the Huragok about cracking open that device we brought home. When she's done, she wants a full debrief, and well...I'm not...I was hoping I could spend the mean time with you."

Brandon knew why she stumbled there. Alison was far from ready to debrief after going through something like that. He could still see the pain behind her eyes in spite of her even tone. She was hurt.

He wasn't the one that should be healing her, however. How could he when he was no better than the man who hurt her? He let his emotions get the better of him with Lassiter, twice, and he harmed him badly, one time he even did it in front of Alison. How could she possibly trust someone who did something just as evil as her abuser?

He wanted to smile and brush all this away. He wanted to say, 'this is war and shit happens,' and be done with it, but he couldn't, not by a long shot. The guilt was too powerful.

Brandon took a step backward and dropped his head.

"Alison, I am so sorry," he said. "But I'm not good for you to be around. I'm not a good person, and people who stay around me for too long always get hurt. It'd better if you stayed away from me. I'm sorry."

He turned to walk away. It was better he end it like this. If she stayed away from him nothing could go wrong between the two of them, and therefore nothing would go wrong. It was much better than the alternative. Maybe if there was a single person alive today that knew him for more than a year he would think differently.

He didn't make it very far, however. A crushing hand came down on his shoulder. The raw, unadulterated strength let him know immediately that it was Alison. She spun him around and looked him dead in the eyes. Her gaze wasn't as angry as her grip, however. Honestly, Brandon wouldn't be surprised if she simply didn't know her own strength.

"Lieutenant, I can take care of myself," she said insistently.

She tried to say something after that, but it caught in her throat. Maybe it was something angry, or reassuring, he didn't know. He struggled to get out of her grip, but she wasn't letting him go. It wasn't long before he resigned and dropped his head. He screwed up, but he supposed he couldn't run from it.

He wanted to open up and say something about how she didn't need to take care of herself, about how they were all in this together, and about he was there to help her, but that just felt wrong at a time like this. He didn't want to throw out more empty reassurance after he just brought up how many people were killed on his watch.

When he looked back up at her she gave him a soft, searching gaze and jerked her head, indicating for him to follow her. They ducked into a nearby room, which turned out to be the ship's magazine. A vessel of this size didn't carry many weapons, so the space was relatively small. Still roomy compared to other rooms on the ship so that an explosion in this section wouldn't cause too much pressure build up and blow the hull apart.

Alison leaned up against one of the bulkheads before letting out a long breath and closing her eyes. She looked like she had been to hell and back. It didn't take Brandon long to remember that she had.

He sighed as he looked over at her.

"You know they can still hear everything we're saying right?" Said Brandon, "this is an ONI ship. I'd be surprised if that Black Box AI isn't in here with us right now."

Brandon almost expected BB to pop onto a holoprojector just to prove that point, but miraculously nothing happened.

Alison opened her eyes, looked up, and nodded.

"I know," she said exasperatedly, "I guess I just need the illusion of privacy."

Her eyes slowly hardened before her next question, as if she were preparing to conduct an interrogation or absorb a lot of heartache. Brandon couldn't tell which.

"So what's wrong Brandon? You wouldn't have tried to storm off on me like that for no reason."

Brandon braced himself. This was what? The third time he apologized to Alison for screwing up like this? Would she even believe he was genuinely sorry?

Frown lines etched Brandon's face as he recounted the whole story, sparing no gory details. He told her exactly how much he wanted to hurt Lassiter, and how it felt so good to strike him with a shock baton and watch him beg for him to stop. He wanted to sound like as bad a person as he could. He didn't want Alison's forgiveness. He wanted her to know why she should hate him.

When he finished his recount he dropped his head to examine the ground. He wasn't sure what Alison was going to do given what he just told her. The expression on her face was dead neutral, and her eyes bored through his head like twin lasers. He wanted her to just get it over with and slap him to the floor, call him an asshole, and storm out. _Alive_.

He waited for what seemed like hours for her response. When he finally heard her approach him he remained dead silent until she was right next to him.

"I would have done the same thing," she said flatly.

Brandon almost didn't register the comment for a moment. How could she not hate him for this?

He looked up into her eyes and found that they stared right back at him, her expression no longer strong and pensive but kind and reassuring.

"If someone hurt you I would kill them," she continued when he said nothing. "Besides, this is no different from what I went through on X50 after finding that helmet."

Brandon almost couldn't meet her gaze. Why was she still so protective of him? She shouldn't be forgiving him for this. He was no better than the man who hurt her. Which probably wasn't Lassiter at all.

"He didn't hurt you though? Did he?" Brandon asked with remorse. "It was someone else? Wasn't it."

Alison nodded, and looked away. She was clearly trying to forget something. Probably the man's name, or face. He wasn't inclined to ask her about it, however.

"You couldn't have known that," breathed Alison, "from your perspective, I was captured by him, dragged to a cell by him, and when you opened the cell I was…" An audible pause accompanied a nervous twitch of her hands. "...that. You had no reason to believe he hadn't done that to me."

Brandon clenched his fists in frustration. He was still unwilling to forgive himself, but getting torn up wouldn't help him succeed in this op. He needed to stay focus.

"I know," he conceded. "But it's still not an excuse. I'm sorry Alison. I just wanted to protect you."

Brandon noticed the endearing half smile that lifted her lips, only to watch her frown a moment later.

"You can't protect me Brandon," she reiterated. "If I can't protect myself with all of the augmentations and modifications I have I hardly see how you getting involved would end in anything but you being injured or killed."

Brandon wanted to protest, but knew it was a lost cause. She was right, he couldn't protect her, and that made him feel hollow. He was her superior officer. It was his job to get her home safe. How could he possibly so helpless to do his own job? How had he failed so miserably at it so many times.

The flashes of his role in operation UPPERCUT flashed through his mind like white hot fire. He still didn't even know who the operation was meant to protect, or what the purpose of Operation UPPERCUT had been. All he knew was that his men had died so that some Spartans could get off world and take the fight to the Covenant. Short of telling his men to break ranks and run for their lives, there had been no way to save them. They held that line. There fate was decided by forces completely beyond his control.

"I know, I just," stumbled Brandon as he tried to get his point across, "I care about you Alison...a lot. I just don't want to see that happen to you again."

He let out a breath he wasn't aware he was holding. admitting that he cared about her on such a deep level held a lot of weight to him. He hardly admitted everything really. He hadn't told her just how truly amazing he thoughts he was; how strong, beautiful, kind, and….well he shouldn't be getting ahead of himself.

Alison's eyes flickered in surprise as she tried and failed to hold back how much those few words meant to her. She knew he cared about her, but it was nice to hear it directly. It was nice not to be alone…. She hadn't felt a connection like this with someone since her early days in the Spartan program.

"Thank you," she finally responded. "But I'll be alright. So don't worry about me. What we should be worried about is the debriefing coming up. We might be joining a select group of people that actually survive being interrogated by my sister. If we're lucky."

Brandon grimaced at the thought of being debriefed by Osman. If he didn't end up with a knife in his back and hot coals down his throat by the end of it he would be happy (count himself lucky?). His frown turned to a smirk when he glanced in Alison's direction, however.

"I hope I can count on you to protect me," he said with an air of humor.

A genuine smile crossed Alison's face, if only for a brief second after the comment.

"Serin is good at beating the hell out of people," she said dryly, "but I'm better."

Brandon smirked, but his mind immediately seemed to take a turn toward more depressing thoughts.

"Alison," he said firmly, "how are you feeling? Really. Is there anything you want to talk about, or say?"

Alison shook her head. She set her expression into a thin line as she looked at him.

"Frankly, I'm not feeling well at all," she said reluctantly, "but I'm going to have to explain everything that happened To Serin in a few hours and I'd rather not think about it until then."

Brandon nodded, unwilling to press her further on such a subject.

The two of them decided that putting morbid thoughts aside for the next hour or so was probably the safest way to persevere their sanity. They exited the magazine and headed toward the hangar to bide their time until their debriefing. As Brandon exited the room, however, he felt Alison's hand brush his as lightly as a whisper.

He smiled. He knew the action was intentional. Alison never did anything by accident. He took a long breath in and breathed out sharply. He wanted to believe that everything was going well and that they were just a few steps away from being done with this bullshit op, but that ancient law kept nagging him in the back of his mind.

He knew it was just a matter of time before something went wrong with this mission once again. They made it out with their lives last time, but Brandon was coming to doubt his luck would continue to hold.


	15. Chapter 15: Goddesses don't fall

**Happy New Year Spartans!**

 **Hopefully this chapter is a good way to end 2016. It's got everything I intended for this story and more :)**

 **Thanks again to Jaeger Jypsy Danger for her amazing editing skills. Enjoy!**

* * *

 **"The tough part about being an officer is that the troops don't know what they want, but they know for certain what they don't want."**

 **-Excerpt from Murphy's Laws of combat operations**

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Location: UNSC _Murphy's Law_ , standoff distance from Forerunner installation X50, 09:04 standard military time, January 7th, 2559

* * *

Brandon left Osman's debriefing feeling more confused than anything.

He expected it to be brutal, with lots of threats of demotion and negligence charges thrown in, and that was what he received. Osman had repeated just about the entire speech she gave him when she first questioned him about his time on Taurus VI about the penalties for withholding information, and how if he was somehow concealing intelligence from her she would end his life in an agonizing way.

He might have expected all that, but it didn't make him any more ready for it. When she gave him her final glare before moving on he breathed a sigh of relief, momentarily happy it was over before remembering it wasn't. Osman still needed to question Alison.

He went into a cold sweat. If Osman was intending to push and threaten Alison into getting the details of her torture out of her, Brandon knew it wouldn't go over well. Brandon had seen how miserable Alison had been while she spent a day reliving and processing what happened to her. He couldn't imagine how she would feel if someone so close to her drug it up again in such a violent way.

When Osman finally spoke, however, it wasn't threatening at all.

"Alison, is there anything you'd like to add?" She said kindly and Professionally.

Alison's eyes were hardened with fear at the thought of what she could have added. Rather than speaking, she reached down and rolled up her sleeve, revealing her abused body, and an angry, jagged scar that ran the length of her forearm. Brandon noticed it was already beginning to fade at the edges, evidence of her Spartan immune system, but it was still only two days old. It probably hurt like nothing he could believe. Maybe that was one of the many reasons her eyes were wracked with pain.

"I believe this is enough sir," she said before rolling her sleeve back up.

Osman nodded and then stood from her desk.

"You're both free to go," she said tersely. "Prep your gear and meet me in the hangar in half an hour. Wear your full battle-rattle. We're going to crack open that device you hauled home, and I want to be prepared for every possible outcome."

Brandon and Alison both saluted her before turning to leave, but before he reached the door, Brandon remembered what Lassiter told him while he was interrogating him. He said a name; Daniel Ramirez. Maybe Osman could figure out who that was. He turned to face her quickly.

"Wait, Admiral, I heard a name while I was interrogating Lassiter," he said quickly. "Some URF guy by the name of..."

Brandon didn't finish his sentence before he was met by the most terrifying death glare he received from Osman so far. He froze mid sentence and shut his mouth before he's executed right there on the spot. Brandon resisted glancing at his feet to check for blood stains on the carpet.

"I already read the transcript of your interrogation Lieutenant, no need to beat a dead horse."

Brandon nodded, and then glanced over to Alison, who smiled at him and shrugged. Brandon, however, took a whole lot more meaning to that statement than Alison. Osman really didn't Brandon to say that man's name. Was Daniel Ramirez connected to her? To ONI? Maybe to Alison? Lassiter said Ramirez was the one in charge of that station above Taurus VI. Was he the one to torture Alison?

Brandon waited behind while Alison made her way to her gear locker to retrieve her weapons and armor. Once he saw that she was out of earshot he turned to the Admiral once again.

"Admiral, is he the one that..."

She cut him off again, although this time she didn't bother to glare, and her tone wasn't particularly harsh.

"Daniel Ramirez and Alison have a history Lieutenant. She will tell you about it if she so chooses. Until then I advise not mentioning him. It's a touchy subject for her."

Seeing there was nothing left to be said, Brandon nodded. Osman clearly wasn't going to tell him anything else.

"Are there any further questions Admiral?"

"No Lieutenant. Dismissed," she responded.

He snapped to attention, and then jogged to catch up with Alison who smiled down at him when he showed up at her side.

The two of them spent the next half an hour gearing up. It took Alison a and some robotic assistance to don her armor. It was a Mjolnir EOD suit with large pauldrons on both of the shoulders and magazine pockets covering the chest plate. Brandon was a bit surprised. She didn't fit the stereotype of EODs he had worked with in the past. Loud, obnoxious, cocky, heavy drinking adrenaline addicts with nothing to lose on or off the battlefield. Maybe she was like that at one point and survived long enough to move past it, or maybe she lacked the same fear of death that the men he worked with had.

Brandon felt a little bit ashamed of himself, but he couldn't help but stare when Alison finally fitted the last piece of her armor on and stood to her full height. She looked like the goddess Athena, armored from head to toe. Her whole body emanated grace, confidence, strength, and power. She moved deftly throughout the armory, picking up the last few pieces of her gear without so much as bumping into one of the tables. His armor always tended to get in the way and cause him to knock things off tables and run into anyone who got in his way, but for her it was almost an extension of her body.

She lifted her weapon off the rack, a SOPMOD SAW fed from a backpack mounted LALS system that probably contained enough rounds to equip a battalion, without batting an eyelash at how heavy it was, before moving to stand directly in front of him. She had to look down at him in order for her matte black visor to meet his eyes.

His first instinct was to bow down before this goddess in shining armor, and he almost did. His mind moved to softer thoughts, however when she depolarizer her visor. In place of the black void of her visor were intense blue eyes that could look right through him. Severe and harsh like almost everything else about her, as he came to know about her, he knew she was also curious and questioning. The kind of eyes a man who wanted to get close to her and answer her questions, will you hurt me? How can I kill you? Keep your distance.

He smiled at her before donning his helmet. He didn't deserve her kindness, but he knew better than to try and refuse it. He nearly moved his armored hand to cover hers, but stopped himself. He did that once, and only while she was hanging on the edge of life and death. It wasn't something he should get used to from her.

Goddesses don't fall for washed up Lieutenants.

Alison helped him perform one last check of his armor, which unlike hers couldn't be done with a computer. His was an older set of Army Airborne armor, with an air assault helmet that had been co-opted by the Army from the Mjolnir MK V-B program and several additional armor plates welded on by Brandon himself. The armor went through a lot, and was covered in more than a few coats of brown paint, but it was still here, just like him.

If only the same could be said for the other 10,000 members of the 52nd airborne massacred on Skopje, Minab, and Reach. He thought back to the day after the battle of Skopje. That was the day a green lieutenant found out he was unexpectedly the second highest ranking officer left in his unit. His buddies, his friends, men and women he'd trained with gotten drunk with and stood shoulder to shoulder never wavering cut down and left with nearly total losses. Brandon grew up fast that day, swallowed his grief and faced the remaining 1,500 enlisted and NCOs at his command. When they left Minab only a single squad remained out of 1,500, and only one man left Reach alive.

He and his lonely armor.

Alison tapped him hard on his shoulder, yanking him out of his head and back to the present.

"You're good," she said firmly before giving him a thumbs up.

He smiled and nodded before polarizing his visor and heading for the hangar with her at his side. When they got there the ODSTs and the Admiral stood circled around the device they took from the United Rebel Front. They wore full armor and held their weapons at the ready, each seeming unnerved at the sight of the glowing blue cylinder before them. It was only a mere six feet long, but given what forerunners were capable of creating, it could be anything from a slip space engine to a two-hundred megaton bomb.

He approached the Admiral, who handed him a ruggedized, UNSC issue laptop.

"We're required to have humans monitor interfaces between AIs and machines in cases like this," she told him simply. "Hook this up to it and give BB access, then your job is done."

Alison immediately stepped between the Lieutenant and Osman defensively. She clearly didn't like the idea of having Brandon be the one to interface with a potentially dangerous device.

"Sir, I'll do it," she volunteered.

Her matte black visor gave her an abnormally steely gaze, even for her. She was not going to take this easily.

Osman shook her head and paid her sister no mind, something Brandon found quite odd given how the two treated each other only moments ago. Maybe it was simply a matter of public versus private treatment. Behind closed doors, the two of them could treat each other as sisters, but out here Osman needed impartial command authority.

Brandon could see in the Admiral's eyes, however, that this wasn't easy for her. She was tense, and Brandon didn't blame her. Her sister was just thrashed to pieces by some unknown person who she would not reveal, and that lack of knowing was weighing heavily on her. Brandon just hoped it wouldn't cloud her judgement.

"Alison, I need you on security." Osman said levelly in spite of how she truly felt, "If that thing 'attacks' us, or does whatever the hell else it's supposed to do, you may be the only one capable of stopping it, and if you're the first one to be killed you can't do us any good."

Osman then faced back towards the device and signaled for the ODSTs to be ready. Brandon flashed a green acknowledgment light to Alison, hoping to reassure her he was fine, before returning his attention to the device.

As Brandon walked slowly towards the glowing blue cylinder, he began to wonder how he got roped into this. Sure, he was a commissioned officer, and sure, that meant he had a college degree, but a degree in mechanical engineering hardly prepared someone to fuck around with a millennium old device born of a race bent on eradicating all life in the galaxy.

He sighed. This was the original reason he was brought onto the ship anyway, wasn't it? ONI had seen fit to rate him as having "high technical aptitude," back during his early days with the Army. What that really meant was that he was a disposable Army recruit that wouldn't be missed if whatever weapons technology they had him test malfunctioned and killed him.

 _Oh well_ , he thought, _what ONI wants, ONI gets._

He donned his full armor for this thing. He didn't have any idea what it did, and with the limited time he was given to sort through ONI's databases for information regarding forerunner computers, he wasn't going to take any chances. Hell, with his luck, one of those promethean things the UNSC had been running into so frequently as of late would spring out of this damn thing and gut him alive.

He shook his head and tried not to think about it.

He approached the device as nonchalantly as he could and handed his laptop to ADJ, who floated nearby the device as though it wasn't anything to be concerned about. Hell, for all Brandon knew the Huragok could have built this device way back when the forerunners still roamed the Galaxy. Brandon handed off his laptop and watched while ADJ ran the cilia of his tentacles over both it and the device to fabricate a port for connection between the two, and then ran a few cables from the device back to the laptop with ease.

 _It is done Reclaimer, do you wish to interface with him now?_ ADJ said as he handed Brandon back the laptop.

Brandon didn't like the way the engineer said 'him,' as though the device was sentient, but he knew he couldn't press the huragok for any more information. Talking to it was like talking to someone from the fourth dimension. It was impossible to understand any of their immense knowledge.

He accepted the laptop and looked back over his shoulder at the rest of the crew. Mal, Vaz, Dev, and Alison all stood in a row with their armor on and their weapons at the ready. Alison held her backpack fed SAW with an iron grip, angling it in the direction of the device, Mal and Vaz flanked Alison, holding their weapons in the nonchalant way ODSTs were known for, and Devereaux stood behind the three of them, shotgun at the ready, with Admiral Osman to her left.

The Admiral wore a stoic expression that could stop bullets or cut steel, which ever one struck her fancy. Unlike the ODSTs who were prepared to fight, her weapon was in her holster, and she wore only the lightweight anti-ballistic and anti-radiation vest issued to most Navy officers, in addition to a Grey Marine Corps helmet. She was clearly not worried about whatever horrors could come out of this device. Maybe that was because of the four armed guards protecting her, and maybe that was because she didn't need them. Either way, Brandon wasn't inclined to ask.

His gaze wandered back to Alison for a brief moment before he looked back to the device. Just before he began to examine the new software that Adj was transferring to his laptop, he heard Alison's voice crackle through his helmet comm on a private channel.

"It'll be alright Brandon," she said flatly. "I've got your back."

He responded by swiping a quick Spartan smile across his helmet, and then turning back to the device. He set his laptop down and struggled to process all of the data that was flashing across the screen. None of it made any sense to him, but he was sure that BB understood it all perfectly.

 _Speak of the devil..._ Thought Brandon as he watched Black Box's plain blue cube of an avatar appear on his laptop's holoprojector.

"Alright lieutenant, your job is simple today," said BB in his usual condescending tone. "Due to restrictive programming I'm not authorized to access any device foreign to the UNSC without express human permission. Please press your finger to the fingerprint scanner at on your laptop to unshackle me."

Something about the word "unshackle," greatly unnerved Brandon, but seeing no other option he pressed his finger to the the scanner and watched as the lines of code on the screen slowed to a halt.

A pop up window then obscured the screen that read, "be advised, you are about to grant an artificially intelligent entity access to an unknown device. Please obtain permission from An ONI REAP-X technician before proceeding. Failure to comply will violate Naval intelligence directive 789. Do you wish to proceed?"

Brandon checked the ominous yes box and waited a few seconds before the screen went blank, and then was replaced by an ONI logo as BB entered the system.

"Hang on lieutenant," said the AI. "I'm accessing the devices security systems. I may have additional operations I need you to complete."

Brandon held stiff and waited while the AI worked it's magic. Several seconds passed while BB said absolutely nothing. Brandon continued to hold his breath until BB finally spoke up from the computer's small microphone.

"Well that's not good," he said simply.

Brandon didn't even have time to ask for clarification before the laptop's screen suddenly switched from its stoic ONI background into a blue screen, and then black. He felt the device heat up in his hands until it became so hot he dropped it. Only seconds later the lithium in its battery caught fire.

"Something's going on, the device is pushing back," said BB in a panicked tone.

Brandon immediately backed away from the device. This was exactly what they had been afraid of. Behind them Devereaux forced Osman reluctantly to the ground while the other ODSTs and Alison leveled their weapons.

BB spoke up, "There's another AI in here."

Brandon drew his handgun and trained it on the device, and nearly snapped off a round when it began to glow blue, and then slowly faded away. The entire crew of the _Murphy's Law_ waited in silence for the Device to...what? Fire? Blow up? Eject a toxin?

"It's entering the ship's systems," BB's virtual hands danced over the board. "I'm trying to stop it, but it's going to gain control of the holoprojector any moment now."

Only a few seconds later the ship's holoprojector flickered to life. Projected directly in front of Brandon was an AI's avatar at life size. It was a glowing red representation of a 21st century soldier from the United States of America, well before it came to be called the URNA.

He wore an old, dusty set of ACUs and held an antiquated M4 rifle at the ready across its chest. His face was marked with light stubble and a few scars here and there.

The ancient warrior looked up and locked it's eyes on Brandon's face shield, it's dead glare boring further through it by the second.

"Reclaimer," it snapped in the harsh tone of an angry drill instructor. "Who authorized you to access me?"

Brandon wasn't sure how to respond to the question. Honestly, he'd rather ask this AI some questions himself. First of all, this AI was very clearly of UNSC origin, so what the hell was it doing in a forerunner device? And what kind of name was reclaimer? And why had it given it to Brandon?

"Reclaimer, respond," it snapped again, "I am under orders from Commander Daniel Ramirez and from the Assembly Minority to keep myself on lockdown."

Brandon stopped trying to formulate a response when BB's deep voice finally came from the laptop's speakers.

"No need for alarm Lieutenant," he said simply. "I've blocked the AI from entering the ship's systems. It managed to access some sensory equipment, but it was only able to access the holoprojector and, for a brief moment, the ship's audiovisual equipment. Nothing further."

Brandon let out a long breath and nodded.

"Where did this thing come from BB?" Brandon asked with concern as he looked at the now eerily silent and still AI projection.

A noticeable paused occurred between the question and BB's response. That was unusual, certainly for an AI of BB's caliber. Was the AI really struck dumb?

"I've sifted through ONI records and as far as I can tell this is a smart AI created by the Ushuaia armory 19 years ago for use on the Epoch class Heavy Carrier, UNSC _Dead to Rights_ , code name Joseph."

Brandon had to make sure he handy misheard BB. 19 years? How the hell had an AI managed to survive so long without drifting into rampancy? Was it rampant now, it didn't look that way.

"Any idea how it ended up in a forerunner device?" Asked Brandon, "or how it survived at all?"

Another noticeable pause followed before BB's response.

"No," he said quickly and with a hint of repressed embarrassment,

"Joseph and the _Dead to Rights_ were lost with all hands due to an unexplained slipspace anomaly."

Brandon smirked behind his visor. Looks like the untouchable AI had finally met its intellectual match.

"Step aside lieutenant," he heard someone say from beside him.

He glanced over to find Admiral Osman standing less than a foot to his side. To have snuck up on him was a feat few could accomplish. Brandon was no special operator, but he'd like to think he was paranoid enough to notice something like that. He was lucky she wasn't mad at him, or holding a weapon. Either one of those could mean a slow, painful, and silent death for anyone who looked at her sideways.

Brandon stepped aside, without hesitation.

"BB, what did the AI manage to see while it had the ship's cameras?" Asked Osman.

BB seemed to make point of making a snappy response to this question, so as not to embarrass himself once again.

"The only camera it accessed was the Laptop's webcam, and as far as I can tell he only saw the Lieutenant. He must have thought he was URF technician that was cracking the device open."

Osman contemplated for a moment before glancing back to look at the posture of her troops. Brandon noticed her do this a few times. It was very George Patton of her, but in this case he wasn't sure it would help much. All of the ODSTs were on edge, and Alison looked like she was ready to fill the whole device full of holes if that AI made one false move. Osman's frown deepened.

"BB, he mentioned the Assembly Minority. Are you able to contact them?"

Another hesitation from BB. Something about this situation was stressing him out immensely.

"Admiral, the Assembly is only a rumor. Some agents have claimed to contact it, but those are only..."

Osman cut him off like an archer missile on an intercept course.

"Do not bullshit me," she snapped.

"You're one of the UNSC's top AIs and you mean to tell me the Assembly has never contacted you?"

Osman snarled at BB, raising her voice and putting her hands on her hips as though the AI might not have heard her, while BB made the size of his projected avatar bigger to match. The ship's crew stood idly by, their weapons now mostly lowered. Each one depolarizer their visor, revealing a strange, questioning look. What the hell was going on here? Brandon couldn't even begin to formulate questions for the Admiral. 'What the hell are you talking about?' Sure seemed like a nice place to start though.

As he watched the AI and the Admiral berate each other, he noticed the pressure in Osman's tone. She was getting impatient, more than likely because of Alison's gruesome experience. The sting of seeing her sister hurt was clouding her judgment, just as Brandon feared.

The three ODSTs all stared him down as Osman and BB continued to hash it out.

"You're the officer, deal with it," whispered Devereaux to Brandon over a private radio channel.

Brandon silently cursed her. He was starting to feel like he wasn't brought onto the Murphy's Law as technical consultant, or even a lab rat. Maybe he was just here because he hadn't spent some crazy amount of years putting up with ONI bullshit, and therefore wouldn't be as tolerant of it.

Brandon sighed. He glanced toward Alison, and she walked up to his side without a second's hesitation. A quick wink of her acknowledgment light told him she had his back.

"Admiral," he spoke up, "I believe we'd all be better off knowing what this Assembly is. If we're going to be fighting it we..."

Brandon was cut off as both BB and Osman turned to face him. BB glowed red with anger, while Osman made Brandon want to glow red with fear.

"Information regarding the organization known as 'The Assembly' is classified Lieutenant," said BB and Osman in unison. All that was left was for someone to say 'jinx.'

Brandon was going to say something in response, but Alison stopped him by placing a hand out. He glanced up at her as she stared impassively at Osman. Osman tore her gaze off Brandon for only a brief second. her gaze could have frozen Alison solid or sliced her in half. She looked ready to rip the head clean off her Spartan sister, but before she could she removed her helmet. Her icy blue eyes stopped Osman before she could say another word.

"Serin," she said cooly to the Admiral. "You can't win this fight by keeping your team in the dark."

Brandon expected Osman to tear Alison a new one for undermining her command authority, but rather than raise her voice again, she stopped. Brandon could see the wheels turning in her head as she registered the embarrassment of blowing up in front of her crew. He watched as Osman's face slowly changed from impenetrable, fiery look of hatred she normally wore to one of shame, and then understanding. For the moment it looked as though the two women standing before him were Spartan sisters once again.

The moment was short, however. It wasn't long before she directed her attention back to her crew. The time he spent in service to the UNSC was bloody, and he learned to tell when a unit's confidence in their leadership was shaken. The way the ODSTs asked him to advocate for them, rather than addressing Osman directly, the way they shifted uneasily on their feet, and the slight tilt of their helmeted heads that indicated they were having a private conversation on a secure channel all let him know that Osman was going to have to win back her crew.

Threats of public execution and deportation to the outer colonies wouldn't work on these men any longer. They had seen some shit in the past forty-eight hours, and they needed confidence that she would be able to lead them through whatever else they would see in the days to come.

She took a deep breath, removed the protective helmet she wore, and got to work.

"The Assembly," she began. "Is rumored to be a collective of smart AIs that meet to discuss how to best protect humanity as a species."

She gestured with one hand to the deaf, mute, blind, and glowing red soldier that still stood unmoving to her right.

"This AI claims to be a part of the assembly minority. They are an offshoot of the main group that believe in direct intervention in human affairs. Until now we believed they were a small group that wouldn't interfere with UNSC affairs, but now that they appear to have aligned themselves with the URF, all bets are off."

The ODSTs stood silently for a good, long while before Vaz finally spoke up

"How can you know so much about a group that doesn't exist?" He commented.

Osman shook her head.

"Truth be told, we don't really 'know' much of anything. Other than a few intercepted transmissions and data recovered by

Spartan-III Team Noble from the Fall of Reach, we have no actionable intelligence on the Assembly's whereabouts or meeting places, and we have never before been able to find an AI willing to admit they are a member."

That last line seemed to string a bit of tension between Black Box and the Admiral, but it held. BB floated his avatar over to the hologram and was silent for another noticeable minute as he inspected it. He pulled up a holographic screen for the crew to see that displayed the fleet of captured UNSC that the URF placed in orbit above X50, before zooming and enhancing on a ship with one of these devices visibly mounted.

"If these are the devices the URF are attaching to the ships in orbit above X50, then their plan is very apparent," said BB, "the URF does not possess the manpower to crew a captured fleet, or to capture ships in the first place for that matter, so they use these forerunner devices to solve that problem by allowing older UNSC AI that they have picked up to intrude into UNSC ships, probably via slipspace communication technology, and take over and pilot them for them. It still doesn't explain what lead them to these devices, or where they obtained all these AI, or why the Assembly Minority chose to align with the URF, but it's a start."

When the AI finished its presentation it closed the monitor, and spun to look at the Admiral. Solid command authority seems to have been restored, but the crew was still a bit shaken.

"What's our plan of attack sir?" Was the next question to be thrown at the Admiral, this time by Mal.

Osman hardened her eyes, and set them on her crew.

"According to BB's prediction the URF's entire plan hinges on these devices," she said authoritatively. "We will deploy to X50 covertly, determine where the URF is extracting these from, and destroy or capture however many remain. Take a day to collect yourselves, then Devereaux will rendezvous with the UNSC _Infinity_ to get us some backup. Until then, dismissed."

Vaz called the crew to attention, and then when Osman left they filed out, with the exception of Brandon, who hung around to see Osman to the deck to give BB the command to terminate the AI that resided inside the URF device. Her voice was no longer as ice cold as it used to be. It wasn't warm, but it was a little more humble. She had just cracked in front of a group of people who need her desperately. Maybe she had finally come to the realization that she wasn't sitting in Bravo-6, issuing out orders under threat of death to the unseen millions at her disposal that were totally defenseless against her wrath. She was in the field, leading a group of five people who had her life in their hands as much as she had their's in hers.

Brandon turned and left before she could notice him watching her. He wasn't sure if he lost or gained respect for Osman today. She cared so deeply for her sister, but rather than channeling that into something positive she had taken it out on the crew.

 _At least I know she's human_ , he thought.

He ran to catch up with Alison, who was walking slowly but steadily towards the armory. He wanted to say he noticed something was off about her gait, but he couldn't be sure. Her steps were less precise looking. Was she nervous about this upcoming operation?

When he caught up to her he pulled off his helmet, clipped it onto his belt, and gave her a warm smile.

"Hey, you alright?" He asked. Bradon learning to depend on the this friendly openness he developed with Alison. He wanted more, but even if he couldn't have it, this was still something he enjoyed.

She removed her own and looked down at him, her expression neutral. She didn't say a word to him. Her thousand yard stare seeming to pierce right through him as she stared down at him.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Asked Brandon at the sight of her expression.

Alison sighed and stopped in the middle of the hallway. She let the ODSTs that were walking in front of her duck into the armory before she began to explain.

"Daniel Ramirez," she mumbled, "the man the AI spoke about, he..."

Her voice ground to a halt mid sentence. Her expression reminded dead neutral, but something was off. She struggled to say what she was meant, but nothing came out until she finally closed her eyes in defeat.

Dammit. Brandon was right. He knew that that name was of some importance to Alison's life. Was he the man that tortured her on the URF station? Maybe, but something about her expression told him that this had a longer history. He hurt her deeply. How deeply? Brandon reached over and gripped her armored forearm tightly to reassure her.

"Hey, are you alright? You've got me worried sick." It was only after Brandon made that statement that he realized what he did. Grabbing his subordinate's wrist like that wasn't something he should get used to, and certainly not with Alison.

A woman who spent most of her time covered head to toe in steel certainly wouldn't appreciate him touching her. She hadn't asked for any intimacy with him, nor did she want any. Before he could yank himself away, however, Alison's lighting speed beat him to the punch. She looked down at him blankly, unwilling to show anything, and then quickly reached over to cover his hand with hers, trapping it in a metal glove. She looked at him pensively for a moment, and then shook her head.

"Brandon, I need to show you something," she said in a clipped voice.

She then reluctantly let go of his hand and turned towards the armory. She stared down that hallway until the ODSTs exited the room, now lacking armor and with their normal, slightly sadistic smiles returned. It seemed as though no lapse in command could possibly phase these jaded soldiers.

Brandon followed Alison's lead as they quickly walked to the armory. Brandon stripped off his armor and weapons until all that remained was his ACUs. Alison did the same, leaving only her skin-tight readiness suit, which showed every curve and edge of her body. Ordinarily, she seemed to prefer to pull a set of BDUs on over this, but she decided to leave it off.

She deliberately grabbed Brandon's hand firmly, and pulled him towards the door. She wasn't aggressive, but the strength with which her soft, warm skin folded around his suggested urgency. He followed her quickly across the ship quickly, until they ended up outside her quarters. She yanked him inside quickly, not checking to see if anyone was watching.

The moment they were inside Brandon glanced up at Alison, who stood before him at her full, imposing height, staring down at him. She looked hurt, and she looked anxious. The thoughts swirling around in her head would probably kill anyone of lesser strength.

"Lieutenant, Daniel Ramirez needs to die," she said pointedly. "He did things...he's responsible…"

Words failed her like so many other things that were supposed to protect her. She folded in on herself in an attempt to preserve what small bit of dignity she had left. Brandon slowly approached her and placed a hand on her shoulder. He still felt guilty for having this kind of familiarity with her, he told himself that this was solely for her benefit, not his.

"It's alright Alison," he said, as his hand found its way to her cheek. "You can trust me. If you don't believe me then tell me how to convince you. Tell me everything or just tell me what you can. I'm here, Alison."

Alison looked up at him reluctantly, and then nodded. She took a seat on her bed, and Brandon sat down next to her. Her hand found its way into his before long, and she began.

"I was conscripted into the Spartan-II in September of 2517. I was six," Said Alison robotically as she stared directly at the wall in front of her. Unwilling, or unable to meet Brandon's horrified gaze.

"I was attached to Spartan Orange team, which considered of myself, Naomi-010, and Serin-019. I was told I would be trained in infantry combat and explosive ordnance disposal."

She froze for a second before picking up her sentence.

"Petty Officer First Class Daniel Ramirez was assigned as my training officer. He was…" Alison tightened her grip on Brandon's hand. He suppressed a gasp at the unexpected pain. Scary business offering affection to a women how could break you in half. Brandon ground his teeth together and squeezed back.

"It's okay. We're alone."

"He was brutal. When we first began physical training, he punished me for not being able to keep up with the other trainees. When we began live fire training, he shot me in the foot when I ran too quickly into combat. He told me I was a disgrace, and that my showing off would get my team killed in open combat. When we were alone, he would punish me other ways. He knew I wasn't good enough to perform to the program's high standards. He..."

She paused and then continued.

"I was never good enough. I could never live up to his standards, and I could never protect myself, or anyone else when he did the same things to them he did to me."

Brandon was shocked. He could hardly even wrap his head around half that information. How the hell had she survived all of that? She had been used by the UNSC as a tool and a whipping post for 41 years, and she didn't look a day over twenty five. Is this what ONI did in its free time? Abduct a kid at six to become a super soldier? Train a preteen to disarm bombs? punish her when she couldn't perform to their lofty standards?

"Alison, you were only a child," Brandon blurted, sounding a hell of a lot more angry than he would have liked. As he imagined a small, brave girl with matted black hair and bloodshot blue eyes dressed in military fatigues crying as her foot bled from a gunshot wound he felt his blood boil. The very thought felt evil and insidious. How did she survive?

"Please. None of that is your fault..."

A look of anger, the one emotion Alison freely showed, flashed across her face.

"Is it?" She exclaimed.

"People have died in front of you Lieutenant, now imagine seeing a six year old child be beaten, or electrocuted, or killed before you, and you, a soldier, not being able to do anything about it. If I couldn't help myself, and I couldn't help them, what am I useful for?"

Her words bit him hard, but he tried not to show it. He didn't need to escalate this any further.

"Alison, you weren't a soldier," he said levelly. "You were a child."

"And so were they," she shouted into his face. "I couldn't protect my own as they were tortured. I accepted the punishments for my failures, hoping that I would be the only one to be hurt, but I just kept failing and failing. No matter how hard I tried I couldn't live up to his expectations. I fought harder, and harder, until the part of me that felt the pain died and then nothing he did to me mattered because I was already mostly dead."

When Alison finished, her face was a mere inches away from his. She was breathing heavily and anger raged like an inferno behind her eyes. He held his ground against her gaze, but the cocktail of anger, sadness, and empathy it brought out of him was powerful.

He waited in silence for her to tell him to leave her alone and never come back, but instead he watched as the anger melted from her face, only to be replaced by the sadness she truly felt. She withdrew from him and placed her head heavily in her hands. It looked like the weight of the world was on her shoulders.

"I couldn't save them," she said hoarsely

"No, you couldn't," he responded quickly, "No six year old could have. You were very brave."

"Not brave enough," she shot back.

Brandon placed his hand on the back of her readiness gear, hoping to reassure her. When she felt the touch, however, she recoiled sharply. Brandon sprung back in surprise. He cursed himself for frightening her. He shouldn't be rashly reaching out and touching her while that when she didn't have her armor on, especially in light of all he had just heard.

"Don't touch me there," she said harshly, her eyes narrowed.

Slowly she shrunk back to her original position, and her expression returned to normal.

"Bad memories."

Brandon nodded before he felt a hand reach over and clasp his tightly. He smiled at her as the two drifted into companionable silence.

Brandon was still trying to wrap his head around everything she said. The speech sounded like something she rehearsed in her head for years, waiting for someone she could trust to finally let her let it all out.

What the hell kind of Army did he serve...

The only thing that was keeping him from drawing his handgun right now and burying a lead slug in the face of Serin Osman, the leader of all of this atrocity, was that her name was on this list as well. Was she tortured, and turned into a machine the same way as Alison?

Brandon turned to face Alison, hoping to offer her some form of comfort. She was still hunched forward. Her hands were threaded into her hair as she stared blankly at the floor, her gaze unyielding. She turned to face him when she saw him looking down at her. Her expression was of hurt and sadness and years of unconfessed torture that she still hardly wanted to admit even happened. Brandon guessed that what happened to her was far more grave than simple punishment. And at six years old? He couldn't even imagine.

Brandon didn't have any words to comfort her, so he acted. He wrapped his arms around her securely in a hug. He didn't know how Alison would react to the action, but he didn't have a better idea. He had no way to convey what he wanted to other than this; being human in front of her. He was careful to keep his arms around her neck and shoulders and away from her back. Whatever had happened there was too fresh to touch, even all these years later.

God, was she warm. Brandon felt like he just pressed himself against the air intake of pelican on reentry, but warm metal didn't compare at all to the feeling of soft skin. Alison was visibly shocked by his action for a moment. She let out a breath and went rigid, but in her sadness she couldn't bring herself to let go. Her arms folded around him and she pulled him close.

She was much larger than Brandon, with his head only coming up a little over the center of her chest, but she made it work. She just wanted to feel him close to her. His air breathing, blood pumping, vulnerable body felt like heaven beneath her fingers, and she wasn't about to let him go. She didn't know much about emotions, but she would learn with Brandon's help.

"Brandon, thank you," she said her voice like a soft breeze through his hair. "For everything. I can't give you much, but I want you to know you don't have to feel like you've lost everyone anymore. I'm here. You haven't lost me. You won't."

Those words meant more to Brandon than Alison would ever know. Why did she always try to reassure him when she was the one that was broken and in pain? Why didn't a moment go by when she wasn't doing something selfless for him? She didn't have to give him anything, but the gift of simply having her there was more than enough for him.

Alison slowly unthreaded her fingers from around him. Neither one of them wanted to leave each other's arms, but Alison was becoming confused. She liked the way they were now, but she felt like there was supposed to be more. She felt an urge she never felt before in her life, the need and desire to reach out and touch Brandon. She wanted to know more about the warmth of his skin beneath her fingers. Was it always like that? Was his breathing always this steady and soothing? Was his voice always reassuring?

Brandon, standing across from her, was feeling the same way. Alison. Tall, beautiful, powerful Alison was staring lovingly into his eyes as he stared back at hers in complete shock. He knew he wanted to do more. He wanted to tell her that he wanted to be more than friends with her, but how could he take advantage of her like that? She had just unloaded all of that sensitive information on him. How dare he use that to leverage her into wanting more from him?

These thoughts swirled in his head until Alison's knuckle reached out and tentatively caressed his cheek. Her touch was as light as a whisper, but it wiped his mind clean. All he could feel was that pinprick of warmth and tenderness, and her. He looked into her searching eyes. She studied his every move as he reached up and placed a hand on her cheek, smiling up at her tenderly.

Did goddesses fall for washed up lieutenants? He was about to find out. Brandon pushed himself up on his toes, leaned in, and pressed his lips to hers.

* * *

 **The Assembly is a pretty obscure part of Halo lore. I'd advise looking it up if you've never heard of it before.**

 **Let me know what you think!**


	16. Chapter 16: As Cold As Steel

**AN: Welcome back to another exciting chapter of Murphy's Law. This story is going to slowly start getting a cast of special guest stars, starting this chapter. Some will be OCs of mine from other story arcs, other will be beloved canon characters.**

 **So many plot points for this story are coming together over the next few chapters that it's making my head spin. I feel like I'm approaching a** **sort of climactic point and I'm super excited to see this story maturing.**

 **but for now that's hardly important. We've still got a lot of story left and right now I'm just hoping you enjoy this piece of it.**

 **have fun Spartans.**

* * *

 **"You never have fire support in heavy firefight but you always have it on a silent recon mission"**

 **-excerpt from Murphy's laws of combat operations**

* * *

Location: UNSC _Murphy's law_ , standoff distance from Forerunner installation X50, 08:08 standard military time, January 7th, 2559

* * *

Alison tensed with every one of Brandon's touches. Every brush of Brandon's hand over hers, every little reassuring caress was completely foreign territory for her. Her adrenaline spiked and her breathing quickened as she fought to allow herself to acquiesce to his touch. Her whole life she had never let her guard down. Trusting someone like this was a good way to end up with a knife in your back. Even beyond a literal knife, what about a metaphorical one of deception and betrayal? Would she be able to take the emotional hit if Brandon was putting her on?

She looked into his eyes, searching him for any kind of deceit. In his soft, hazel-green eyes she found none. She was a master of dissecting a person's expressions, but what if she was slipping up? What if behind that facade of compassion there was secretly a deadly trap?

But what if there wasn't? What if this new found need to caress him lead to pleasure? What if she didn't have to suffer alone anymore?

She took a chance and reached out to caress his cheek with her knuckle, mimicking his tender touch. She knew she imparted the desired effect when Brandon closed his eyes and smiled. When he opened them, he stared back up at her. He was contemplating something. He was biting his lip and his eyes searched her face. Before she could open her mouth to ask him what he needed to know, and to swear she would tell him anything, he tightened his grip around her shoulders ever so slightly, and leaned toward her.

Her mind went into a panic. What was he doing? She was curious to find out, but shouldn't she jerk away and question him? Ensure he meant her no harm? Threaten him to make sure he wouldn't go back on his promise? Before she could decide it was too late. His face was inches from hers, his head tilted to the side. He gently pressed his lips to hers, and Alison's mind went blank.

Was she worried about something a second ago? Maybe now she should be worried about processing all of the emotions that were surging through her head. As his lips gently caressed hers she felt a jolt of electricity shoot through her body. It was like nothing she felt before. It ignited a primal need inside of her to pull him closer, to feel him next to her, and to make sure he wouldn't leave until he taught her all about this new feeling.

As the kiss became more insistent, her mind began to tug in so many different directions. She didn't know the first thing about affection. She should pull away before she embarrassed herself. She wanted to force his hand, now. She needed to know what it felt like to be kissed. She wanted real, passionate affection, something she was starved of for her entire life. She wanted him to continue just like this. Maybe letting him continue would lead to great pleasure than her impatient body realized.

The gentle brush of his lips against hers slowly increased in intensity as he applied more pressure until Alison finally wrapped her arms around his neck and allowed herself to experience his affection.

After the brief caress Brandon pulled away just far enough that she could speak. He was breathless from the feeling of Alison pressed up against him. Her skin was warm and heating by the second. He wanted to drag his hands over her skin and feel more of that warmth, but he didn't want to risk touching another sensitive spot and scaring her off.

The disproportion in their strength was intimidating, especially as he felt her fingers dig into his shoulder hard enough to bruise. Her presence was powerful as she stood almost at her full height, but her eyes were wide and bordering on frightened

Why was she scared of him? The corded muscle beneath her scarred skin could easily rip any piece of him off that she wanted too.

"It's alright," he whispered to her. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Alison narrowed her eyes at him, like she had heard those words too many times to still believe them.

"I promise…." Said Brandon, his voice solid and certain

Alison held her rigid stance for a moment longer, before easing up just enough to let him lean back in and kiss her. Her doubts were gone. She knew this was where she needed to be.

When she felt him gently run his tongue over her teeth, a shiver of pleasure ran down her spine. Without even thinking she parted her teeth to allow him access to her mouth. She didn't know why she knew this was what he was asking for, but she gave it to him, and he accepted, darting his tongue into her mouth to taste her.

Alison became light headed. She wasn't sure if that was because of this dizzying, newfound form of affection, or because she didn't know how to ask Brandon to come up for air, but it wasn't entirely unpleasant. The whole experience was thrilling. Brandon's tongue gently caressing her mouth, her own gently darting out to feel and taste his, gently probing, searching, and discovering new pleasure.

When Brandon finally came up for air he leaned forward and rested his forehead against hers. She bent over to meet him at his level, but she didn't mind. They said nothing, but nothing needed to be said. Their affection spoke for them.

To him, her affection conveyed, _I care for you Brandon, unlike anyone I have met before. Please let me enjoy your presence for whatever time we have together._

From him, she received, _I am yours Alison. I care for you and I want to help you. Let me see all of you._

Alison was ready move back in for another kiss, but before she could, she felt Brandon's hands begin to roam on her body. They shifted from her shoulders down to her waist. She tensed reflexively. She wasn't used to the suddenness of the shift of his touch. She didn't like the lack of control over the situation. She knew he wasn't trying to be aggressive, but her violent pull away from him conveyed just how uncomfortable she was.

Brandon looked at her with concern, and then pulled his hands away. He looked frightened. Clearly he thought he did something seriously egregious.

He stumbled over his words before finally spitting out, "Shit, I'm sorry. What did I do?"

Alison frowned. He didn't do anything. It wasn't about him at all. It was about her scars and all the ugliness he might find if his hands wandered to the wrong place. The few people who saw her without her armor were horrified at the scars on her mutilated body. Given that Brandon saw parts of her uncovered while she was recovering, she was surprised he was making such affectionate moves towards her. Did he really want to see what was beneath the shroud of armor she deliberately layered over herself?

"Brandon, it's alright," she said quickly.

She took his hands in hers. She meant it as a comforting gesture. Whether or not he took it that way wasn't something she knew how to recognize. Maybe she wasn't as good with expressions as she thought she was, or at least not these kind.

"I'm sorry, I'm just nervous," she said honestly. "Please, I'd love you to continue, I just..."

Brandon smiled at her and tugged on her hand, gesturing for her to sit down on the bed. She complied and he did the same.

"Alison, it's alright. It's perfectly normal to be nervous.

Alison flashed a brief, sad smile. Brandon was nothing if not courteous.

"Was that the first time you've been kissed?"

Alison flushed bright red. Alison knew Brandon could tell by her awkwardness, but she still wasn't thrilled about having to admit her complete inexperience to him aloud. Truthfully, she never really put much thought to the fact that she never kissed anyone. She often saw Marines stealing a kiss during rare downtime. She knew that this sort of affection between troops was forbidden, but she never could bring herself to report them. Something about the action and the intimacy of it seemed sacred, something she didn't have any business interfering with. To her, it was just another thing that regular soldiers could enjoy that was not for her to experience, and until now that was how it stayed.

"Yes," responded Alison in a cracked voice.

She did a horrible job of masking the strain in her voice. Dammit. Why did this man make her crack like this?

Brandon smoothed her hair affectionately and then completely removed his hands from her, relinquishing control to her. She didn't make any attempt to approach him, but nodded appreciatively.

"Really, someone as pretty as you and no one has ever tried?" He said questioningly.

Alison flushed even redder. Part of her wanted to grab Brandon and figure out how to kiss him for that, and part of him wanted to smack him to the floor for embarrassing him. Seeing the tension in her face, he decided to back down from that line of questioning.

"How was it?" he asked.

He looked her in the eye before caressing her palm with his thumb as he spoke.

Alison sighed. Even that small touch was foreign, pleasureful, and beyond description. How could she possibly describe something so deeply close as a kiss?

"Wonderful," she said, her voice distant. "I've never felt that way. It was foreign, and wonderful, and..." _...and too far beyond my control._

"Brandon, what does a kiss mean?" She wasn't sure whether or not it was a dumb question, or even a valid one. Did it mean anything at all?

Brandon reached out to caress her cheek. Alison tensed, but relaxed when the safe, warm feeling of Brandon's skin against hers set in.

"It means lots of things. It means I like you, it means I want to be close to you, it means I want you to feel pleasure and happiness."

From the shakiness in his tone, Alison couldn't help but feel like he was dancing around another meaning. A deeper meaning that he wasn't willing to commit to the action just yet.

That meaning. It must have a name. What was it?

Brandon brought her hand to his lips to kiss it. A comforting gesture? No, it was something else. She didn't know a word to describe it, but it was pleasant.

"I could go on, but I'd rather just continue with this. Is that alright?"

Alison looked at him reluctantly. She wanted him to kiss her again, it was exhilarating, but perhaps too exhilarating for her. She was new to this. She needed to test the waters, find out what she was up against, develop a plan.

 _Why does this have to sound like a battle in my head?_

Truth be told, she didn't know what she wanted. She felt like she wanted him to take things slower, but would slower really be better? She honestly didn't know.

"Yes," she said confidently.

Although she was still feeling far from confident.

Brandon placed a hand on the back of her neck, threading a few of his fingers into her hair.

She sighed, closed her eyes and let her mouth hang open. The simple action felt surprisingly pleasurable, especially as she felt his fingertips press into her scalp, massaging it gently and then guiding her towards him. She'd never considered that she'd like the feeling of someone touching her hair.

His lips met hers smoothly, and she tried to follow Brandon's lead as they once again built from a slow caress of the lips into a deeper dance of tongues. Slowly she faded back into the whiteness she was in before. All that was left in her memory was Brandon, and the kiss they were sharing. Brandon recognized that she enjoyed his fingers in her hair, so he gently began to run them through it. Alison enjoyed the feeling until his fingers got a little too close to her and grazed her neck.

For a brief second she braced herself against him nervously. If his hand wandered too far it would end up on the neural implant slot that was surgically embedded into her neck. He would probably find it ugly and machine like. She couldn't let him feel it.

She leaned away from him and then crashed her lips back together with his, hoping to move his hand away from the implant.

Brandon mistook her aggressiveness for openness, and began to kiss her a little less tenderly. Once again he ran his hand through her hair, making a line straight down her neck until his fingers caressed the implant.

The small chip slot was an area of great sensitivity for her. Even touching it would sent chills down her spine because if it's proximity to so many bundles of nerves. The moment she felt the cold sensation of shivers down to her core her first reaction was to push away, hard. With her augmented strength, this unfortunately meant Brandon was pushed much further than she intended.

Her uncontrolled motor function sent him flying across the room. He hit a wall hard, and fell to the floor, dazed.

Alison stared at him in horror.

Damn. She didn't mean to do that. She only meant to try and slow him down enough that she could hide the ugly parts of herself before he found them. Now it didn't matter how ugly she was. He was gone. No way he would stay a moment longer after something like that. She took off for the door. She should leave before she made this any worse than she already did.

"Alison, wait," he called after her breathlessly.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to push you too far. Please tell me what I did wrong."

Alison was astonished. How, after he was thrown across the room by her, could he possibly still think he was the problem? How could he see so many ugly parts of her and still be able to look past her violence, her anger, and her scars?

He deserved someone better than her. A lot better than her. Some who could return the affection he gave her without lashing out in fear.

"It's not your fault Brandon," she said sadly.

She tried to block the sound of Brandon scraping himself off the floor to follow her as she silently walked out the door of her quarters, her face a mask as she shut the door in his face with an airtight hiss.

The moment he couldn't see her any more she broke into a run towards the showers. When she reached them she peeled her readiness gear off and turned on water as cold as the vacuum of space. The droplets trailed over her skin, freezing her burning nerves and heart solid. She slumped to the hard, white polymer floor of the shower and let her head rest in her hands.

Why did she rejected Brandon so harshly? He liked her. He saw her ugliness and still didn't look at her any differently, so why wouldn't she let herself open up to him and feel his gentle affection? She imagined him slowly approaching from behind her now, whispering her name and telling her it was alright. She didn't do anything wrong. She could take control and she could ease into whatever they were beginning at her own pace. She imagined him gently threading a few fingers into her hair and...

Alison grimaced. No. She couldn't think about that. She dug her fingers into her hair and pulled so hard it hurt. She didn't want to remember his tenderness. It just made everything harder.

Alison was glad to be soaked in the freezing cold water. It masked the tears that silently down her cheeks.

She shouldn't be crying. She was a goddamn Spartan. She shouldn't be affected by things like romantic attachment. The mission came first and that was all that mattered. And to a guy like Brandon she was damaged goods. She had too many scars, inside and out, to dare enter a relationship. She would be a burden to him.

Alison fought to clear her mind as the frigid water cascaded over her shoulders.

 _You were built for war, not attachment. Remember that and it all gets easier._

This wasn't the first time she'd said those words to herself, but believing them wouldn't be easy. It was just as hard as seeing her Spartan brothers and sisters lying in pools of their own blood, and being totally helpless to defend them.

 _Helpless, just like Petty Officer Ramirez said you were._

Alison didn't move for a long time.

* * *

Location: Covenant plasma refinery on former outer colony M235, 09:45 standard military time, January 7th, 2559

Eyes heavy with fatigue, Naomi-010 lay prone in the snow of the icy dwarf planet M235, surveying the area and readying to move in to complete her next objective. As she mentally prepared herself to move forward with the mission, she allowed herself a few, brief moments of respite.

This assignment was much more exhausting than she anticipated.

Then again, she didn't expect it to be this grueling, or drag on for this long. Initially this was a simple assignment she took because she needed a little time to think. Maybe think wasn't so much the right word as process. She had plenty of time to think about things while aboard the _Port Stanley_ , but those things became more and more narrowed when she entered a relationship with Vasily Beloi.

When she told Vasily how she felt about him, and what she did to enable herself to be with him, the hormone therapy she went through to recover her sex drive. Things moved very quickly between the two of them. They both knew what they wanted, so they decided why waste time? They could die any day, and it was better to live and love than die regretting not going far enough.

Initially Naomi couldn't get enough of it. The stolen moments when the other crew members were absent thrilled her beyond belief. Waiting until she knew no one was around so she could sneak up on Vaz and pin him in place with a gentle hand a few forceful kisses made her feel important in a way she never did in her life. She soon found herself sneaking around the ship nearly every night to find her way to Vaz's quarters, and spending hours and hours in his embrace, learning about all of the pleasurable things the Spartan program took from her.

Eventually, however, it all began to become too much for her. She began to become overwhelmed by her thoughts about Vaz. Some were confusing, most were downright irrational, and somehow she loved all of them. That was the part that scared her beyond her ability to rationalize it away.

She begun to realize that her fear of these thoughts began to drive her from Vaz. Their nightly meeting decreased until they became almost nonexistent, and when Vaz finally confronted her about it she honestly didn't have an answer for him. She swore that she didn't intend to push him away, only that she needed space and a little time to process her mind and body's reactions to these completely foreign situations.

When she told Vaz that Osman offered her a two month long assignment in the former outer colonies taking out covenant remnant installations, he was incredibly disappointed. He begged her to stay, promising they could take things slower, but she shook her head.

"I'm not leaving you Vasily," she said kindly, "I'm just not used to any of this. I need a sense of normality for a while to process how I feel, otherwise I might start pushing you away and that's the last thing I want."

Vaz wasn't happy with her response, but he accepted it. They spent one last night together before she left, and although it was just as passionate as the others, there was an air of tension between the two of them. Neither of them knew what was going on in the others head, or even in their own, only that they needed each other too much to let it get in the way.

When the morning came when she expected Vaz to beg her to stay, but instead he embraced her tightly, and kissed her deeply and slowly, letting his hands rest on her sides for possibly the last time.

"Take care," was all he managed to say before he let her go, and then a strangled, "I love you."

She closed the door behind herself.

Now that she was lay face down in the freezing cold tundra, readying herself to assault the Covenant plasma refinery below, she regretted not staying. She regretted letting her nerves get the better of her. She regretted leaving Vaz feeling even more cold than she did right now. He didn't deserve it.

With a renewed grip on her DMR she sighted down the scope until the refinery appeared in the crosshairs. She assessed the perimeter, noting the many guards stationed around it. Her armor was repainted white for this mission, so she decided given her new found camouflage, running up and planting the C12 explosive charges strapped to her back was more viable than taking on a hundred plus covenant.

She took a deep breath and prepared to run. _The sooner I get this over with the sooner I go back._

Then in one, swift motion, like an Olympic runner leaping from the starting blocks, she exploded forward. Even at the rate she was moving, the blinding snowstorm camouflaged her as howling wind impacted her from all directions.

She counted down how long it would take her to reach the perimeter, where she intended to vault through one of the gaps left in the laser fence with.

 _Five, four, three, two..._ She counted.

Just before she reached one, however, she stopped dead. Behind her she heard the distinctive sound of approaching UNSC air to ground missiles. She hit the ground just as she began to see the contrails fly over her head and begin to impact the refinery's buildings causing brilliant explosions of blue and white. Her visor polarized to its darkest setting to protect her eyes as plasma that was ejected into the air in all directions and returned flaming to the ground.

She heard the UNSC aircraft, AV-49 Wasp ultralight ground support aircraft—by the sound of it, circle the base and begin to unload on the covies with their cannons, firing thirty millimeter rounds at an incredible pace. They took serious anti aircraft fire, and Naomi swore she heard one of them go down, then another, then another. That was the reason she was made to assault this place in the first place, so they wouldn't lose anyone to AA.

 _Dammit_ , she swore in frustration.

Naomi took off as fast as she could towards where the first crash sight appeared on her radar. He was probably dead, but if there was any chance he was alive she would take it. She leapt through falling plasma and puddles of boiling snow melt as she dashed for the wreckage of one of the Wasp aircraft. It took a dive face first into the snow.

Through the blinding snow storm, Naomi's enhanced vision could just make out the form of the pilot who was thrown from the aircraft. He ejected too low for his emergency thrust pack to engage, and landed in the snow face down. His flight suit wouldn't do much to protect him from the cold of this place, and if Naomi didn't get to him soon he would freeze to death.

She reached him in a matter of seconds and lifted him up out of the snow, turning him over to face her. His helmet had cracked, and his face was bright red and no doubt stinging from the cold. He was too cold and freezing to talk, In shock and too badly injured to stand. Naomi watched helplessly as the cold seeped into his bones, slowly killing him.

Naomi searched for any source of heat she could find other than the flaming hot plasma, which would only give him arcburn or worse. Seeing no other option, she activated her distress beacon, gathered the airman into her arms and set him down near the flaming wreckage of his aircraft. She tore open the blowout medkit on his thigh and removed a Mylar blanket, wrapped him in it, and hoped it would be enough.

As he began to thaw his expression became more and more worried. No doubt he was in shock. Knowing ONI and their practices he was probably told not to expect any antiaircraft fire. His eyes were wide with fear as he fought to keep them open against his exhaustion. He babbled incoherently. Naomi could only pick out a few words. Something about his men and his family.

She wanted him to feel like he would survive. Unluckily for him, 1500 pounds of armor was only reassuring to the wearer, not to the man dying in their arms.

Naomi wanted to help him desperately, and after a minute or two she sighed and removed her helmet. This man needed to know that there was a living, breathing human being by his side as he suffered through this.

The cold stung her face as she peeled off her helmet and let her braided hair fall free, but it wouldn't kill her like it would this man. Her body was augmented and built for these kinds of extremes. Even so, she couldn't have imagined her doing this for someone before she met Vaz. Face to face interaction never was something she saw as beneficial, and definitely not reassuring. To her, any conversation that could be done with her helmet off could he done just as well with it on. Now she came to embrace the more human qualities of it.

She forced a smile at the airman as he huddled closer to her, shivered for warmth, and stared at her newly revealed face like she was some sort of grey-eyed angel.

"Hey," she said gently, "I'm Naomi. Everything... It's all gonna be ok."

She hoped the man wouldn't notice her stumble. She still wasn't particularly good at this whole comforting thing. Hell, she wouldn't have even known how to a few months ago. Vaz changed that. Usually ODSTs and emotional intelligence were mutually exclusive quantities, but Vaz was so much different.

He tried to reach out to touch her face, but Naomi restrained him. He didn't need to lose a hand to the cold because he was delirious.

"Are you an angel?" He said, his voice strained.

Before she could answer, he shivered and stared at her one last time until he eventually closed his eyes. If he didn't keep shivering Naomi would have been seriously worried.

Was she an angel? Certainly not. She just hoped what little she could do for this man would help him pull through until evac arrived.

She heard the whine of a pelican transport aircraft's engine. She put her helmet back on, flicked on her infrared detection system and scanned the air until she found the aircraft, then lifted the airman, still wrapped in Mylar, bridal style and carried him quickly towards where it was going to land. She allowed her adrenaline to drain away as she attempted to process her new UNSC rescue. Who the hell authorized a strike like that without so much as a warning? Who put lives at risk for something that could have waited a day or two?

She guessed she was getting closer to an answer as the pelican approached. It circled for a moment, scanning for her, before landing directly in front of her. Its bay door opened and a man in a UNSC Air Force flight suit walked out. His emblems identified him as a captain with the 435th expeditionary unit, a unit ONI preferred to do its dirty work due to its highly mobile nature.

"Are you Spartan 010?" He called out to her through the snow.

She paused for a moment before responding. "It's Naomi," she shot back. She figured she might as well get used to people using her real name, because if she ever got back to Vaz she was going to be hearing it a lot, and she didn't want to have to stop hearing it if she could help it.

"Right," said the man without regard.

"Sorry for the interruption ma'am, but you need to come with us for retasking. You've been reassigned to the UNSC _Murphy's Law_ on direct order form CINCONI. You're to be loaded onto the next slipspace capable transport we can find."

As soon as she heard those words, hope shot through her. She never thought she'd be happy to hear from Osman again, even if they trained together, but that wasn't what really got her. Naomi knew that Osman would never leave Mal, Dev, and Vaz behind if she was on an assignment important enough to warrant blowing up something so spectacularly, and potentially losing valuable aircraft, and even more valuable pilots.

Naomi rushed towards the aircraft and boarded without hesitation. This wasn't the time to be having second thoughts. She was going to get back, and sort this all out with Vaz.

A medic pulled a stretcher from its rack on the pelican's forward bulkhead and placed it on one of the ship's bench seats, allowing Naomi to lay the hypothermic airman onto it. She raised his legs and arms to stave off further shock and waited for him him to warm up.

As Naomi waited next to the man, she left her helmet off, hoping the sight of a human face would be more pleasant to wake up to than an armored tank. That simple action left many of the pelican's crew members shocked and staring at her. Most of them wore ONI patches on their shoulders, and were probably all responsible for transporting or escorting Spartans at some point. All of them knew how odd it was to see one without their helmet on.

It made her uncomfortable to have so many sets of eyes on her, and she almost put her helmet on to avoid them. Although she was warming to the idea of leaving the protection of armor, the privacy and secrecy it afforded were still things she appreciated. She ignored the stares, however, and left it off. It was better to be uncomfortable and alive than safe and suffocated.


	17. Chapter 17: Here Goes Nothing

**AN:**

* * *

 **"When both sides are convinced they're about to lose, they're both right,"**

 **-Excerpt from Murphy's Laws of combat operations**

* * *

Location: UNSC _Murphy's law_ , standoff distance from Forerunner installation X50, 16:38 standard military time, January 7th, 2559

* * *

 _Eyes forward. Ears open. Commit all of this to memory. Any Intel you can get could save you life tomorrow. Stay focused. On this ship, you represent the Army. They depend on you, and your men depend on you. They are more important than your life, and you will see them through this mission, even if you have to pretend your heart wasn't ripped in half just a few hours ago._

Brandon repeated that to himself fifty six times this briefing. He knew there was no way in hell he would ever believe it, but he just couldn't shut himself up. He needed something to put his back against. Anything actually, that might wall out the pain of Alison walking out on him.

That wasn't to say he blamed Alison. He didn't. Really, he was mad at himself for trying such a stupid move. What was he thinking, kissing a woman who was hardly comfortable with him holding her hand? Why did he let his impulsiveness get the better of him?

He hadn't let himself get that close to a woman in years. He had many partners in his time in the Army, but usually it was just physical. There wasn't any tenderness, just sex to distract him from the horrors of battle. He longed to have something more a few times, but typically, the detachment was mutual. War was just too brutal for soldiers to get attached to each other.

Alison was different. He felt something when he looked at her that was more than just physical. Did he even deserve to say the word love? He wanted to. Why did he fall so hard for her? Because she was exceptional. The Spartan program did a thorough job of selecting the most amazing people in the galaxy, and she was one of them. He didn't deserve someone like that. He wasn't sure he deserved anyone.

He fought to close his mind off from any painful memories, but he couldn't keep the smiling face of the first woman he personally lost to the war out of his mind. He'd hadn't thought about her in years, he'd forced himself not to, but one thought of the softness of her skin or smell of her hair made him remember Christine Barnett, his last love before Alison.

Now, the only record of her existence was a name in his head, because when Skopje was glassed any digital record of her existence was destroyed, and her family was massacred on Kholo years before that. They met in college through the engineering classes they took together. She was taking a smarter approach to life, and was actually going to do something with her degree, while Brandon only wanted it, so he didn't get a shitty MOS when he graduated.

She was loving, unlike anyone he'd known. He could hardly fathom how someone who lost so much could find it in her heart to love a guy like him, who was still nothing but angry and bitter with something to prove to an alcoholic dad who would be dead in a few years anyway, whether the covenant got to him or not.

"You'll come around," she used to tell him before kissing him on the cheek.

"No one can stay bitter around me."

And she was right. He couldn't, and when she agreed to move with him to Skopje when he was garrisoned there he was overjoyed.

He thought he was going to marry her, but instead, the planet was glassed, and he had orders to follow. Orders that didn't include running around searching for a single civilian, even if she was the one person he loved.

It was the only point in his career that he could look back on and say in honesty that he should have deserted. He should've found her, and if they couldn't get each other off the planet he should've died with her. It was what she would've done if she was in his place.

Now she was gone, and glassed planets kept no record of the love that was lost with them. He could only sit watch as her memory danced through his head, blaming himself for what happened to her.

"Lieutenant?" barked Osman as she noticed his eyes wander away from the holographic projection of the URF base.

He pretended to be lost in thought, instead of dreaming about the what if's and missed chances of life, as he snapped his eyes back to meet hers.

"Yes sir. Sorry sir," he responded before straightening up. He practically yelled that at her, something he was hoping she would attribute only to him having a healthy fear of a woman with the power to kill anyone in the galaxy.

 _Does she know? She has to know. She knows everything that goes on on this ship._

Honestly Brandon was just surprised the Admiral hadn't separated his body from his head yet. Shouldn't she be mad at him for angering her sister? Why didn't she end their relationship before it started?

Brandon decided not to dwell on it. Whether she was oblivious, or playing oblivious, he was going to count his blessings. Today didn't have many of them.

"I was just going over our escape options in my head," continued Brandon.

"I don't see many of them."

Truth be told, Brandon didn't like how any part of the operation looked. The holographic projections that the _'Law_ scanned of it painted a bleak picture of a highly fortified compound, far beyond a run-of-the-mill URF installation. The whole perimeter was encircled with barbed wire with hesco bastions beyond it. There were machine gun nests every 200 feet, five anti aircraft guns covered the skies, and six watch towers covered every corner of the irregularly shaped compound.

The troops there were well equipped as well. Warthogs and older model Scorpion main battle tanks with a variety of armaments were positioned strategically throughout the compound. A full sized airfield capable of landing fighters and transports ran along the compound's east side. Longsword fighters and Pelicans were lined up on the Tarmac. If those longswords managed to launch this mission would end very quickly. Brandon calculated the odds, crossed his arms over his chest, and frowned. A soldier's odds, at best, but he didn't have to like it.

And all of them were there to protect one building.

BB's thermal scans showed that a single building in the center of the compound was where the URF was storing the AIs. The building was cooled to twenty degrees below zero, so no infantry would be protecting it, but it was probably alarmed, and cyber intrusion was probably an impossibility given the capabilities of these new AI.

All in all it was just the kind of mission he expected ONI operators undertook on a daily basis. Too bad he was now counted as one of them.

Osman narrowed her eyes at him, and then nodded, accepting his answer, or at least, so it seemed.

"Lieutenant, I won't lie to you," she said, looking him in the eye. What he saw there passed before he could identify it.

"If you get caught this time chances are you will not make it back alive. This will be a force reconnaissance operation. You will have no backup other than the ODSTs accompanying you, and no air cover other than Devereaux and the _'Law's_ space to surface missiles and pulse laser weapon. No one will be coming for you lieutenant," Osman repeated as if he hadn't heard her the first time.

Brandon was hardly fazed by the stark picture. To be honest, this was one of the few times he'd entered a potentially disastrous op, and his CO was honest about how screwed he was.

"No one ever is," said Brandon. He thought back to his day on Reach.

It really became his day. There was no one else left alive to remember it. Not even Noble team. He spent how many years pouring his endless anger onto those six Spartans, and now, after hearing what he heard from Alison, he found himself taking it all back. Those capable soldiers he asked for fire support that day were actually nothing more than children. The fact that they survived what the UNSC did to them made them heroes in their own right.

How dare he blame them for anything?

Osman glared at him for his somewhat sarcastic remark, but moved on.

"The ODSTs that will serve as your quick reaction force in the event of an emergency will arrive tomorrow along with another Spartan to support you on the ground. Unless you'd like to study the battle plan further, you're dismissed."

Brandon snapped to attention.

"Thank you Admiral," he said before returning to the map. He stared at it for a long while after the Admiral left, scrutinizing every detail of the base. He wasn't preparing for anything. He was just giving himself an excuse to stay on the bridge a little while longer. He knew he couldn't be any more physically or mentally prepared for this mission.

The complement of ODSTs they were bringing in was the most they could possibly bring onto the mission without chancing a breach in OPSEC. Not that he was worried about a lack of support. He's been waiting for his chance to die in battle for seven years now, no need to drag anyone else down with him.

He didn't want anyone to see him in this sorry state. He couldn't run from his problems forever, but at least there wouldn't be any enlisted personnel on the bridge, so that at least ensured he wouldn't run into Alison.

Physically he was prepared, mentally he was prepared, but it'd be a goddamn miracle if he didn't fall apart emotionally tomorrow, and if anything happened to Alison he wasn't sure he could live with himself.

He glanced down at the briefing table one last time and read over Osman's tactical notes.

 _OPERATION: LONG ARM OF THE LAW_

The long arm of the law, an invisible hand of justice with an unlimited reach in the galaxy. Was that what ONI thought it was being when it kidnapped the Spartans? So many thoughts ran through Brandon's head. Why was he so stupid? Why did he still serve an army that could do such awful things? If you just want it to end why not end it before you end up getting someone else killed also? He wasn't sure if he wanted to throw up, cry, or draw his sidearm and shoot a hole in the bridge's viewport.

Brandon clenched his fists. He couldn't entertain any of those thoughts. He would be ready for tomorrow's mission, he would make sure _everyone_ made it out alive, and he would put Alison behind him. She made the right choice. People who stayed around him for too long tended to become casualties of his own bad luck.

* * *

Location: UNSC _Murphy's Law_ , standoff distance from Forerunner installation X50, 1622 hours standard military time.

* * *

When Alison-065 lost someone, her first response was always to detach herself from reality. Processing loss in the moment, if at all, was inefficient. It was better to pretend it didn't happen and move on with the battle than to dwell on it. As she walked through the hangar of the _Murphy's Law_ , she felt a similar feeling of detachment wash over her.

Funny, she hadn't lost anyone. Why was she so upset? Losing a single acquaintance never affected her in the past. She saw so many soldiers, there one moment, and the next a fine cloud of red mist.

How could she justify crying over a lieutenant who was still alive?

But that was what she did. While she let her freezing cold shower wash away her worries, a few tears ran from her eyes. They were invisible to everyone but her, but still she felt the guilt of each one.

She should be saving those tears for glassed colonies, or children left without parents by the Covenant, or the millions that would die if this URF fleet took on a defenseless UNSC colony, not for the loss of a temporary source of pleasure.

That was all Brandon was. An experiment, and a dangerous one at that, into territory that she was not designed to venture into. She was bred for war, not warmth. Maybe it was best she closed herself off.

Alison suited up in her full armor the moment she could. She needed something to take her mind off of Brandon, and section 0 was always rolling out new software patches for her HUD. What could be more mind numbing than getting acquainted with all of her helmet's menus all over again?

She approached the Pelican labeled Tart-Cart, and lowered the ramp. On most ships, aircraft were usually kept locked down until they were needed, making them perfect hiding places.

Alison sat down heavily in one of the aircraft's web seats and began to scroll through the new menus. Looks like ONI moved her ammo counter from the bottom left to the top middle. Someone probably did a calculation and determined that putting it there would make her 0.0362773% percent more combat efficient, not taking into account the fact that it was located at the bottom left for her entire career.

She tried to move it back to its original position, but the genius that created the feature was just as good at hiding how to change it. She bit her lip and used a combination of eye movements and her own thoughts, transmitted through her neural lace, to navigate her helmet's labyrinth of unnecessary software. Her frustration built until she finally decided to tear off her helmet and slam it to the ground.

Alison felt pure rage flow through her. If she was being honest, she wasn't angry at the piece of malfunctioning software, she was angry at the fact that she was spending her time staring at it rather than looking into Brandon's eyes like she was last night. How could she have been so stupid? Why did she always push away the things that brought her happiness?

She lost a man she was truly able to emotionally connect with. It was something he would probably never find again. She was about to allow her anger to form into sadness, and rest her head in her hands, when she caught movement near the cockpit out of the corner of her eye.

"Damn Alison, ease up," said Lian Devereaux as she nonchalantly leaned against the doorway that separated the pelican's troop any from its cockpit.

"No need to give poor tart cart any more dents than she already has."

Alison froze as her mind boiled with a mixture of shame, rage, and astonishment. How did she not notice the ODST when she entered? Why did she neglect to check the cockpit before allowing herself to be emotionally vulnerable? No one was supposed to see this side of her. She was invincible, but just now, she felt trapped.

Yet Brandon somehow got her to let her guard down. Would it ever return to where it was before? Before she could continue this line of thought any further, Alison clamped down on her emotions, set her anguished face back to a thin line, and looked Devereaux in the eye.

"I'll be leaving," she said.

Her voice was laced with anger despite her best efforts to conceal it. Why was she falling apart like this?

She retrieved her helmet and moved towards the loading ramp, but before she could seal it over her head, the female ODST ran after her, her hand outstretched to physically restrain her?

Alison acted on instinct and spun around to catch her hand mid stride, clamping down on it with near bone crushing force. Devereaux cried out in pain for a brief second before Alison realized what she was doing and dropped the woman's hand.

 _What the hell was she thinking? Doesn't she know that's a good way to get killed?_

Devereaux realized her mistake at the same time Alison did as she flexed her wrist and gritted her teeth in pain.

"Last time I ever make that mistake again," said Devereaux. She laughed lightly before pulling her hand close to her chest gingerly.

Alison scowled at her, but found herself instinctively reaching to examine Devereaux's hand. Normally she was colder than this. She would have sent her to the medbay rather than personally examining her just to maintain a healthy distance from the other woman, but something about the sensation of human touch now enthralled her, even if it was through layers of armor.

Alison gave the hand a cursory glance before dropping it and letting it clatter against her thigh armor. Dammit. She needed to stop this now.

"It's not broken," said Alison, "I'm sorry to have bothered you."

"You didn't bother me at all, but it looks like something's bothering you," responded Devereaux.

Alison glared at the smaller woman. She didn't like having her emotions read like that. She was wrong in one regard, at least, something wasn't bothering her, everything was.

"I appreciate your concern," she snapped. But that was all she was willing to give her. She needed no distractions if she was going to put Brandon out of her head.

Devereaux laughed a quiet and knowing laugh.

"It wouldn't have anything to do with Mister Short, brooding, and...Army? Would it?" Said Devereaux in a jeering tone.

Alison spun on her heels fast enough to make an AI's head spin. She didn't care whether this was Devereaux's pelican or not. She never felt a stronger urge to paint the inside of a ship with someone's blood.

Devereaux, however, looked unfazed by Alison's honed gaze. The satisfied grin of someone who got just the reaction they wanted adorned her face. Alison was confused as to whether Devereaux was trying to commit suicide, or was gravely underestimating what happens when a spartan loses their temper.

"That bad, huh?" Commented Devereaux.

Alison felt a wave a cold fury wash over her. She wanted to unload on Devereaux, but surprisingly, she found her fury hard to maintain. The fire that burned behind her eyes was slowly being put out by the vacuum that was ripped in her chest. How could she feel angry through sadness like this. Honestly, it was becoming hard to feel anything else.

"Yes," said Alison as the anger drained from her eyes. "It's hard to explain. I don't want to bother you with it."

"You're not bothering me," responded Devereaux quickly before she lost Alison to her despair.

When Alison looked up, her smug expression was gone. Devereaux was an ODST, so she wasn't fully breaking her cocky character. Her relaxed posture still remained, and her arms were closed over her chest tightly in a way that was far from warm, but she allowed her face to relax into something less jeering and more understanding.

"Look, I get it, this is confusing to you. You've never felt like this before, and all that, but trust me, I went through this with your sister, Naomi. There's nothing about this that isn't explainable, and it doesn't have to feel scary at all," said Devereaux confidently.

Alison stopped listening to her after the word Naomi pierced the air of the room.

Naomi was alive? How? Alison didn't hear anything about her in a long time, not since training when they were as close as family. Collectively, the Spartans were close. They all slept together, fought together, ate together, and lived and died together, but that was nothing compared to the bonds that formed inside Spartan teams. Alison was assigned on day one to her small group of three, consisting of Serin, herself, and Naomi. Serin was a born leader, and directed the group. Naomi was a brilliant thinker, and developed the daring plans for the group. Alison knew weapons and could destroy anything the team needed to with brute force. They made a fantastic team, but then again, the sociologists behind the Spartan program probably knew that before assigning them to a group.

But Alison hardly heard from Naomi since they received their armor, and trying to find her was next to impossible. Her files were sealed, just like every other Spartan's, and with most of the II's dead Alison just assumed…

Alison felt her broken heart start beating once again.

"Is she alright," blurted out Alison, "please tell me Naomi is alive."

Devereaux grinned and nodded.

"Just fine Alison. Actually she's supposed to be arriving with the ODSTs tomorrow. I'm surprised the admiral didn't tell you. Sorry to spoil the surprise."

Alison was astonished. All these years she believed her, and everyone else she cared about, to be dead. How many others survived? Alison wasn't sure anything could brighten her day, but this sure did.

"Thank you Sergeant," said Alison formally.

"I'm sorry to have intruded on you."

Again, Alison tried to turn to leave, but Devereaux caught her before she got too far.

"Nope, you're not getting away that easily," said Devereaux.

Alison looked over her shoulder to find Devereaux still leaning nonchalantly against the bulkhead. Her smug grin told Alison that she was convinced, one way or another, that Alison would stay. Alison clenched her teeth in frustration, but let it go.

Alison let herself fall back into the seat.

"Fine, if it is really that important to you."

She did not like the satisfied look on Devereaux's face one bit, but Alison tried to ignore it. After telling her that, she supposed she owed the ODST this much.

"Honestly there's really nothing to tell. He tried to kiss me last night, and I pushed him away. I doubt there will be anything else between us."

Devereaux frowned at the Spartan's quick summary.

"So he's not a great kisser? Or did he try and do something stupid?" Asked Dev.

Alison shook her head.

"Neither," she responded.

The more she thought about why she pushed him away the less it even made sense to herself. She didn't have much of an idea of what someone was supposed to do in a situation like that, but it felt like he did everything right. Why did it all scare her so badly?

Devereaux nodded as though she understood, but how could she?

"Let me guess," said Devereaux knowingly. "You don't know what about it scared you so badly. You enjoyed it, but you didn't understand it and that frightened you."

Alison was really not enjoying having her mind read. She glared at Devereaux, who as usual, was completely unfazed.

"Quit acting like you're in my head," she snapped.

Devereaux seemed to get the message to drop her usual, cocky, ODST attitude when she saw Alison's barred teeth showing in her look of anger. Like it or not she needed someone more approachable. She unfolded her arms and sat down across from her, putting herself on equal, physical footing.

"I'm not," said Devereaux, her tone a little more diplomatic.

"That's exactly what your sister told me the first time we talked about this."

Alison gave Devereaux another suspicious look. The fact that this woman claimed to know so much about her sister, and Spartans in general gave her a nervous feeling in her gut. Surely they weren't all that easy to figure out.

"So what scares you so much about it, anyway?" She asked.

Alison bit her lip as she tried to put her finger on it. The problem was that everything he did wrong, was right in its own twisted way. She loved the feeling of his hands on her, but she didn't like giving up control of herself that easily. She reveled in his warmth when he was close to her, but vulnerability of it made her skin crawl.

Alison did notice a common thread, however.

"I want more control over the situation, I just don't know how to ask for it."

Devereaux didn't seem phased by her statement in the least. Alison considered it a daunting problem, but by the look on Devereaux's face she didn't even seem to consider it an issue.

"Then just ask for it honey," said Dev nonchalantly.

"Brandon's no ODST. He's not stupid enough to fight you for control."

Alison fumed. How could she possibly turn this issue into something that seemed so trivial? At the moment it was just about ready to eat her mind alive.

"Easy for you to say," quipped Alison.

"It's a whole different feeling for me."

Devereaux laughed as though she was trying to push the limits of what happens when you take a condescending tone with a Spartan.

"It was also a whole different feeling for me," said Devereaux.

"But that was when I was fifteen. Trust me, everyone goes through something like this at some point in their life. There's always something about sex that's scary for everyone. It's a lot to trust someone else with. Eventually though, you work it out. You figure out what you like and don't like and eventually you grow to accept it."

 _Sex!? When was that put on the table?_

Alison cringed at the thought. She wasn't a fool, she knew what it was, but even the thought of what it entailed made her head spin. How could she possibly let herself be fully exposed with no armor or weapons with absolutely no space between them. At least now, if she ever felt threatened she had leverage, and a sidearm at her hip to blow his brains out if he did what exactly? A man who was a foot and a half shorter than her sixty pounds lighter than her would have a helluva time trying to hurt her.

She sighed. Maybe she was being a little absurd.

"What if there are parts of me he hasn't seen yet?" Said Alison as she glanced down at her scars.

Even the ones that were visible were jagged and disgusting, but they were nothing compared to the ones she hid.

"I say show him," advised Dev.

"Look, take my advice, or leave it, but I say just talk to him. I'll never admit this to his face, but the LT's not a bad guy. I doubt he'll reject you if you work with him."

Alison bit her lip, and nodded. Maybe she was being a bit too harsh. He was accommodating of her in the past. Maybe he deserved a little more credit than she was giving him.

"Alright," said Alison reluctantly, "I'll talk to him."

Dev laughed at her downtrodden tone.

"It won't be that bad, I promise."

Alison was about to glare at her for continuing to treat this like a joke, but gave up. Her lighthearted tone didn't come off as malicious. This was just Devereaux as herself.

Alison nodded, and picked up her helmet, placing it on her head. She paused for a long moment, and then sent an audio message to Brandon, telling him to meet her at the port side observation deck. Alison turned to Devereaux briefly before leaving.

"Thank you," she said tersely, "I think I needed that."

"No problem," said Devereaux, "I'm here to help."

Alison walked down the ramp and headed to the armory to shed her armor.

 _Here goes nothing._


	18. Chapter 18: I'll Try Anything Once

**AN: Hello all! Welcome back.**

 **I again apologize about the time between chapters. I work in theatre(as a technician, not an actor, so my schedule is even worse, lol) and have a rapidly fluctuating and busy schedule. Still, I'll try to get more of this story out to you guys as fast as possible.**

 **You'll notice the story's rating changed, that's because this chapter contains SEX!**

 **Lol. Some of you may be ecstatic, some not so much. If not just stop reading about half way down and miss all of the fun XP**

 **And feel free to ignore the advice of today's Murphy's Law of combat ops. Life will be much more fun that way.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 **"Never go to bed with anyone crazier than yourself,"**

 **-Excerpt from Murphy's Laws of Combat Operations**

* * *

Location: UNSC _Murphy's Law_ , standoff distance from Forerunner installation X50, 17:30 hours standard military time. January 8th, 2559.

When a message appeared in Brandon's notifications, he could hardly believe his eyes. He spent a few, good minutes staring at the icon, which read; _Alison-065, New audio message. (Play) (cancel)_

When Brandon finally came back to his senses, he immediately pressed play and heard a voice once more than he was convinced he might never hear again. It wasn't an angry, last message to him just to tell him to fuck himself one last time. Alison's voice was as hard to read as ever, but he swore he heard a few frayed nerves showing through in her tone. He let his head rest on the bulkhead of the ship's hallway and took a deep breath as he let out an inexplicable laugh of joy. He hadn't lost Alison, despite all of the past luck that was stacked against him, or maybe he was just going insane after this roller coaster of a mission.

He knew he shouldn't get his hopes up. Maybe this was just some sort of _I'm sorry, can we be friends?_ Reconciliation meeting. That would be his luck…

He stopped himself. He really needed to stop thinking in terms like that. He couldn't keep going through life blaming everything that happened to him on luck. He wasn't the only man in the galaxy that had everything that could possibly go wrong, go wrong for him.

He peeled his head from the bulkhead and tried to walk to the observation deck, but it wasn't long before he found himself running. He needed to find Alison, he needed to know what he did wrong, and he needed to do everything in his power to fix it.

He burst through the door as soon as it slid open, and found Alison sitting cross-legged on the floor staring out the deck's viewport. To call it a deck was really hyperbolical. It was really a six by fifteen room with a solid glass viewport running the length of it, and the view it provided was absolutely gorgeous. Brandon knew why Alison picked this spot to meet when he saw that the ship was angled towards X50, giving them a full view of its dusty surface and purple fauna, with the stars to highlight the background. It reminded him of that night he looked up at the stars with Alison on Taurus IV, the first night she truly let him in.

He focused his attention back to Alison, who turned her head slowly to meet his gaze. She looked militarily precise and perfect, as she always did. Her Marpat BDU's were ironed, pressed, and immaculate in a way that made her look like a rear echelon officer that had never seen combat in her life, but her laser-like gaze, her perfect posture, and the way her fingertips caressed the sidearm at her thigh every few seconds told you otherwise.

She was beautiful. Her long, black hair was tied back efficiently, while still allowing for some strands to obscure her right eye, almost like a natural masquerade mask. Her icy blue eyes were an almost unnatural color, probably from lack of exposure to sunlight, and her toned body was both feminine and strong, with curves and toned muscles that were hardly worth the hellish augmentations she had to go through to get them. With a physique that could rival any athlete humanity ever produced, she appeared invincible. Her Spartan height ensured she was always looking down at you, and the calluses on her hands were living proof that she had handled a few weapons and snapped a few necks. Despite all of the reasons she had to feel secure, right now something about her looked vulnerable.

You had to look really close to see the cracks in her expression, but they were there. Her jaw was clenched hard to maintain the thin line of impassiveness she generally held, her eyes searched Brandon's face frantically to try and rapidly decipher his intentions. Her thumb was running back and forth over her trigger finger. A nervous habit perhaps? When her mouth opened, her voice inevitably betrayed her how truly nervous she was.

"Brandon?" She said, her voice slightly cracked.

She silently scolded herself for slipping up like that. She didn't want to appear fragile in front of Brandon, especially after what had happened to him. Drawing on her Spartan reserves of courage, Alison stood, reaching out her hand to grasp his for comfort, but froze in the middle of the action. Was he still open to that level of intimacy with her, or did she scare him off last time? Was he worried she would lash out and attack him?

Brandon smiled at her and extended his own hand, in what he hoped was a gesture of extending an olive branch. He knew better than to grab her this time. Watching him, Alison wondered if he worried about pushing her too far, again. Alison reached out gingerly and entwined her fingers with his.

She allowed her eyes to close for a second as she felt the warmth of his grasp. His hands were tiny compared to her own, but they were warm, and his grip was firm. She found herself wanting to pull him into an embrace again if only to make sure that he would stay with her no matter what happened.

 _When did I get so possessive?_ She thought as she looked back on a life lived with few possessions and fewer attachments.

That description of her life made her sound like a monk, but that was far from accurate. She was trained to fight on base instinct, which made her fiercely protective, loyal, and territorial when it came to things she cared about, usually her team and her armor. She'd owned that suit for more than thirty years, and she'd never let a soul touch it but herself.

When she opened her eyes she found Brandon looking up at her, the worry was etched on his face, as it always was when she was like this. He cared deeply for her, and she would pay that back in kind. No matter how uncomfortable she was, she would learn about what this mutual feeling between them meant.

"Alison, I am so sorry," he began.

"I..."

He couldn't start his second sentence before Alison pressed a finger lightly to his lips. In her mind, he had nothing to apologize for.

"David, please," she said evenly

Alison noticed the visible shock at Brandon's face at the use of his first name. He probably didn't even know she knew he had one. Every fiber in her being told her to refer to him by his rank, but she didn't want to think of him as a faceless title anymore. She wanted to remember the gentle warmth his hand gave off when she held it, and the soft, reassuring way he spoke when she needed it. She wanted to remember the feeling she got when she held him close, that need to let her hands wander all over him, and seek out new pleasure. She wanted to sink her teeth into every new part of him and let this lust flood her body as she experienced everything she was once deprived of.

She reached out and took his other hand, surprising herself with her own assertiveness. She squeezed down enough to let him know she wasn't letting him go. She was never going to push away something this good ever again.

"It's my fault. I was confused. I pushed you away because…"

Alison hung her head and frowned. Why was she even trying?

"I didn't know what to do," she said in defeat.

She wasn't cut out to be a lover. She was just a machine, and anything outside the parameters of her programming was too much for her to handle.

"I didn't know what I was supposed to do, I had so little control, I just, it was too much."

She felt Brandon give a light tug at her left hand, and she let go her unbreakable grip without a fight, breaking her promise to never let him go. She waited in agony for him to say anything in return. She felt so vulnerable just standing there, with her happiness and wellbeing hanging on a few word response.

Alison got her answer in the form of a light caress on her cheek. Brandon's warm, soft skin slowly moved across her face until his hand rested on her jaw. He shushed her with the gentle pressure of his thumb against her lips. Instinctively she leaned into his touch. She didn't have the cognitive ability to push him away again, physically or verbally. All she could do was open her eyes and look back at him. He had the same look on his face that lacked judgment or blame. He wanted what she wanted. Why couldn't she see that?

"Alison, please don't blame yourself. I shouldn't have pushed you into something like that."

Now it was Alison's turn to reach out and touch him. She caressed his cheek in a similar fashion, copying his movements and hoping it would work. Brandon leaned into her touch as well, and allowed the corners of his mouth to turn up.

Alison grinned back. She was getting better at this.

"How about we both stop trying to lay blame on ourselves," she suggested.

Brandon nodded, and innocently leaned towards her, silently asking her if she was feeling open for closeness. Alison accepted and leaned in, gently caressing his lips with her own. The small electric shock feeling shot through her as their lips touched, so she leaned in once again, kissing him softly, with him returning in kind. There was no pressure, or force about it, just a few, light kisses traded to mend two hearts broken by the violence and isolation of their lives as soldiers. Alison enjoyed the feeling of taking the lead, and taking and giving only as much as she wanted on her terms. It was nice to have someone who was there for her, not because the chain of command dictated that they be, but because they genuinely cared about her.

When Alison was ready to stop she pulled away and leaned her forehead against his, closing her eyes. She intertwined her arms around his back and pulled him flush against her. Brandon did the same and wrapped his arms around her upper back, very carefully avoiding the sensitive areas she pointed out to him earlier. She was starting to warm to the feeling of being close to him like this, and even the thought that this was far from the closest they would probably get terrified her less, but she still had to get to the reason she brought him here if they ever wanted to reach that point.

She leaned forward slowly until her mouth was next to his ear.

"Brandon, I brought you here to show you something," she whispered softly.

"And, well, you might not look at me the same way afterward. Is that okay?"

Brandon unexpectedly placed a kiss on her cheek, causing an embarrassingly blush to creep across her face.

"You can't show me anything that would make me think less of you," he murmured and slowly let go of her.

Alison reluctantly did the same and took a step backward for safety. What's what's about to show him was going to take an awful lot of explaining, she wasn't even sure where to start.

"The Spartan program did a lot of things to me," she began.

"It's why I'm stronger, faster, and more intelligent than an average human being. As a result, I have a lot of scars, both from battle and from the program. I've never shown them to anyone I didn't have to, and I want to show them to you."

When Alison glanced back from the floor, Brandon didn't look bothered. He'd seen a lot of her scars, but he hadn't seen these. She just hoped he would stay unfazed when she showed him what was really under all her many layers of armor.

"I'm honored," said Brandon sincerely.

Alison smiled sadly for a brief moment, before reaching the zipper on her BDU blouse, and shrugging it off to reveal the rubberized readiness gear she wore at all times, which her armor was designed to fit over. Already she was beginning to feel exposed, and she was still, more or less, covered from head to toe.

She spun so that her back was facing him, and brushed her hair away from the back of her neck, revealing the empty, metallic slot in the back of her neck. She fought off the shame of revealing such an inhuman part of herself and spoke up.

"This an AI data chip slot," said Alison evenly. "I was implanted with it shortly after augmentations. It allows an AI to interface with my mind directly and monitor my thoughts and functions. It connects directly to my cerebral cortex, so it's very sensitive. I've only had an AI inside it once to test it out. I never want to feel that again."

Alison glanced over her shoulder at Brandon. He was biting his lip and looking guiltily at the floor. Clearly, he'd put two and two together and figured out that he had touched it by accident, and that was why she pulled away.

"Did it hurt when I touched it?" He asked.

Alison shook her head.

"No, it didn't hurt," she said, as she wracked her brain for a way to describe what it felt like.

"It's just extremely sensitive. When something touches it, it feels like liquid mercury is surging through my brain. I'm used to what it feels like against my sheets when I sleep, but when you touched it..."

Alison froze as her words once again failed to describe what was going on in her own head.

Brandon frowned deeply, with concern, and began to move his fingers nervously at his side. She didn't want him to worry about her, but she realized that was an absurd request given what she was showing him. She would be worried sick if he showed her anything remotely like this.

"I'm sorry," he offered

Alison shook her head and forced a sympathetic smile.

"Please don't be. I should have told you," she said reassuringly.

Alison briefly mulled over what she was going to show him next. Almost no one, even the doctors that did her regular check ups, had ever truly seen all of her scars. She always insisted on keeping a shirt on unless absolutely necessary when being examined, and even ONI physicians weren't brave enough to try and order around a Spartan.

She didn't get the scars on her lower back, from augmentations, although they hurt worse than any procedure Doctor Halsey could throw at her, and they weren't from battle, although she'd lost a lot while getting them.

No, these were the scars Daniel Ramirez gave to her personally.

Alison took a deep breath and turned her back to Brandon. She reached for the zipper on the back of her vac suit and began to tug. She felt her throat go dry and her hands become weak as she tried to find the courage to show him. She stopped after only a few inches and sobbed. She had emotions. She could feel. She wasn't made of metal. That sob was a plea to anyone to recognize that she was more than what she appeared to be.

Brandon approached her, quickly at first, but then slowly, so he didn't startle her. Alison saw him coming and dropped her hands to her side in defeat. Why couldn't she do this? Why couldn't she bring herself to trust someone who she knew wouldn't hurt her?

"Hey," said Brandon reassuringly, as his hand found its way effortlessly into hers.

"It's alright. You don't have to show me anything you don't want to."

Alison choked back another sob as she failed to put on a brave face. It burned like acid being kept in the back of her throat, but as much as she wanted to let it out, she couldn't let herself be that vulnerable in front of him. She was torn. She wanted to give up, show him everything, and herself release everything she was carrying with her, but years of training that taught her never to be vulnerable stood in the way.

"I want to..." She said her voice barely above a whisper.

"I think...I need to. I just..."

Brandon squeezed her hand tight as the words caught in her throat mid-sentence.

"Only show me if you're ready Alison," he murmured.

He looked her in the eye earnestly, causing a little ray of tenderness to break through the fog of her despair. She didn't have to worry. He cared for her and showing him her scars wouldn't change that. She felt that sensation again, the one she couldn't describe. The feeling that made her want to tell him everything, and never let go of him.

"Brandon, I need to," she said.

Her voice was still far from confident, but she gathered enough composure to allow herself to speak coherently.

"I need to know I can trust you. There's a lot wrong with me, and...you need to know what you're getting yourself into."

Alison's eyes bored a hole in the ground for a few more seconds while Brandon looked at her sadly. After a few moments, he let go of her hand and nodded. Alison let out a long breath and slowly reached for the zipper on her vac suit. She didn't want to psych herself out, so the moment she felt the zipper in her hand she yanked it down and sucked in a breath as the ship's cold air hit her.

"I told you Ramirez trained me," she said, before turning to reveal her scarred back to Brandon.

"Well, he did this to me, right after I was augmented, and right before I shipped out for combat. He wanted to prove...that I couldn't run fast enough to escape him, anywhere in the galaxy."

Brandon listened to Alison's word with a heavy heart. As she reached behind her back to peel away the rest of the seal a cocktail of rage and sorrow flowed through him, pulling him in too many directions at once. But that all stopped, and his heart skipped a beat when he saw what Alison was trying to show him. A scar, carved into her back with a jagged knife adorned her back. _You're Mine 065_ was carved into her flesh like a brand on her soul. Like her many, other scars, it was reopened. Carefully carved over with a thin blade to reopen the old, unhealed wound.

Brandon made a silent vow that he was going to make that URF sonuvabitch suffer for everything he did to this woman, and then he pushed that thought aside. Alison didn't need angry, empty threats right now, she needed comfort. She needed someone to hold her and tell her that they would figure everything out, even if that were beyond impossible.

She needed love.

Alison turned to face him, tears silently streaming down her face. He could tell she was trying to stop them, but it was all too much for her. Instinctively, Brandon wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. Alison did the same crushing him against her desperately as tears fell from her face.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice cracked.

"I just can't stop it."

Brandon gently rubbed her back and looked up at her tenderly.

"Hey, no need to be sorry," he said as evenly as he could manage.

"It's alright to cry. I'm really sorry you had to go through that."

Alison stifled a sob and nodded. She forced the edges of her mouth to turn up as tears continued to stream down her face, broken by sobs.

Brandon's heart sank as he thought about what she must have gone through, and the fact that all of it was done to a teenage girl… He wanted to ask her if Ramirez had sexually assaulted her. Everything about him screamed predator, but he supposed this wasn't the best time. If she wanted to give him details about what had happened, she would give them when she was ready.

For now, he reached up, brushed a stray strand of her hair out of her eyes, and let his hand rest on her cheek.

"Alison," he said, his voice shaky.

"I love you."

Alison's eyes flew open at the sound of those words and zeroed on his like lasers. They were tearful and bloodshot, but they couldn't hide her surprise or fear.

"You...what?" She responded uncertainly.

Brandon swallowed hard and prepared to say the three most difficult words in the English language a second time. "I love you, and there's nothing that's going to change that."

Alison blinked, as though she was drawing a blank, and then reached up to wipe the tears from her eyes. She was still trembling a little, but she seemed to have forced herself to regain her composure. Brandon wanted to tell her it was ok to let it all out, but he wasn't sure she would appreciate his advice.

"Love..."

She posed the statement as a question. Was this the feeling she got when she was near Brandon? The need to protect him, and the desire to be close to him? Could that possibly be quantified in a single word? Did she love him? Would it be too hasty to say that when she barely understood what it was in the first place?

But it was such a vulnerable admission for Brandon. She heard how his voice quivered and felt his hand tremble for a few, brief seconds. Something like that deserved a response. But what kind?

"I-I'm not sure I know what love is," she said turning her tear-filled eyes to meet his.

"So I'm not sure if it's appropriate for me to respond, but if this is what love is then yes, I may also love you."

Brandon beamed when those words slipped past her trembling lips. He leaned up and kissed her gently. The corners of Alison's mouth turned up at the small action, and she embraced him just a little bit tighter before leaning down to kiss him in return. Brandon let her rest for a minute while she regained her composure. He gently ran his hand up and down her back, carefully avoiding her neural implant and her scars, and hoping to give her some level of comfort.

When her breathing returned to normal, she loosened her grip on him and moved her hands to his shoulders.

"Thank you," she said in a tone that was something close to cheerful.

Brandon grinned.

"No need," he said in response.

"It's what you do for people you love."

A blush crept over Alison's face that she tried to hide by pushing him back up against the bulkhead and leaning in to kiss him. Brandon was caught off guard by her forwardness. She was getting a whole lot more confident. She lingered a bit longer than she usually did, and Brandon gently moved his hand up and into her hair to pull her closer. He felt Alison go taut as his hand touched the back of her neck. She pulled away abruptly. Brandon cursed himself. He needed to be more careful.

"I'm sorry," she said immediately.

"I just, I'm just a little uncomfortable. I'll get over it."

Brandon shook his head and removed his hand, bringing it back to grip her forearm.

"Hey, it's ok," he said gently.

"No need to rush. I'll give you more control. We can't take it as slow as you want."

Brandon slowly reached out a hand to comfort her, but before it came to rest on Alison's cheek, he felt her grab it with a secure grip. Fearing he was being rejected, he sadly tried to pull his hand away, but that didn't work either. He looked Alison in the eye and noticed something wasn't the same. Her eyes still flicked about nervously, but there was a new intensity to them like she wanted something badly and wasn't sure how to ask for it.

"Are you sure I can have more control?"

The question confused Brandon. Of course, she could. He'd give her all the power she wanted. He nodded reluctantly, and she tightened her grip on his wrist. She used her leverage to push him up against the bulkhead behind him and trapped him in place. Brandon realized as he stared up at her awe-inspiring form, just how small he was compared to her.

Before he could ask for an explanation, she grabbed his other wrist, and although he resisted out of surprise, it was long before she had both his hands pinned above his head and him pinned to the bulkhead.

When he looked back into her eyes, his throat went dry. Nervousness turned to hunger in the time it took her to pin her down. She wanted control over him, and she knew exactly how to get it.

"Lieutenant, are you ok?"

Her tone still had echoes of the caring one she used with him, but her breathing was labored, and it was applied thick and forcefully like an EOD lays down plastic explosive to blow something, or someone, wide open.

Brandon feared he had woken something in her that he couldn't control. His wrists were already aching from her tight grip, and he was, whether he liked it or not, completely at the mercy of the woman before him. This wasn't something he experiences with any other woman he was with, but he had never been with a woman like Alison. She was the pinnacle of human form. _Perfect_. And she earned that title through surviving one of the most grueling ordeals any human being ever survived. He was the one who compared her to Athena, after all. A goddess deserved the control she wanted.

Against his better judgment, he relented with a simple, strangled, "Yes."

Alison grinned evilly down at him. She knew she would feel guilty for this later, but she would cross that bridge when she came to it. Right now she loved this new found feeling of control. Brandon's touch didn't scare her when she felt like this. Now she could manage it. _She could be in control._

In every part of her life, she acted only when she was ordered to. Her life was micromanaged since birth, and finally taking control of some, small but important part of her life gave her a rush she couldn't explain. She drank in Brandon's look of terror as he stared back into her hungry and dominant gaze. She looked him up and down, just to unnerve him more. She didn't have any intention of hurting him, but he didn't need to know that.

 _You're mine now_ , she thought, _now stop squirming. I don't know what I want from you, but I'm sure as hell going to get it._

Alison didn't give herself a moment to hesitate. She greedily leaned down and kissed Brandon. At first, she was gentle and nervous, but it quickly became rougher as she refused to let her fear show through. She felt like laughing in pure exhilaration. This was what completely letting go felt like. No all-consuming fear, no thoughts of death, no shooting at her own shadow, just a release of years of built up tension.

She tried to recall Brandon's movements from yesterday and mirror them. They were her only real guide to how this was supposed to work. She kissed him roughly and demandingly to try and make up for her lack of experience. When she finally pulled away to give Brandon a few inches of breathing room he looked at her in complete shock. His mouth opened like he was going to say something, then quickly shut.

Alison smiled. He'd finally learned something valuable.

How did she continue from here? She was too embarrassed to ask. At any rate, they couldn't stay here. The door to the observation deck didn't even lock. Not that it really mattered. As dumb as she was playing, Alison knew Osman probably knew all about what was going on right now. She drew on a term she heard Marines use in the past.

"My place, or yours?"

Brandon raised an eyebrow at her knowledge of the statement, but his mind didn't wander too far as she leaned in and greedily kissed his neck, something she'd been wondering if she was allowed to do for a long time. When he strained against her grip and moaned, she knew she had her answer.

"Yours, it's closer," he said breathlessly.

Alison released him for a brief second, just enough for him to regain his breath, and then she grabbed his hand with a vice grip and all but dragged him out the door. Brandon ran to keep up. Neither one of them had enough sense left in their sexually frustrated bodies to be sneaky about this, and they probably made a little too much noise as they passed the hall where the ODSTs slept to get to Alison's room.

Alison slammed Brandon up against the door to her room as she desperately tried to key in. He was already going to have several, large bruises that he would have a hard time explaining in the morning, and Alison guessed he was only going to get more as this went on.

Alison struggled to key into her room, mistyping the code three times as she struggled to get it open. Eventually, Brandon got impatient and leaned in to kiss her neck as well. He didn't know he'd screwed up until Alison's hand had torn him away and was pinning him back to the door by his neck. Any more pressure and she'd be constricting his breathing.

Alison smiled evilly at him. She appreciated the action, but tonight she was going to give and take what she wanted.

"Quit squirming," she whispered, her eyes narrowed.

"You're going to have enough bruises as it is."

Brandon was too terrified and too aroused to even attempt a response. Luckily, he didn't have to, as a moment later Alison managed to enter the correct code, and the door to her room slid open with a gentle hiss.

Brandon stumbled backward through the door and tried to get his bearings, but his mind was too clouded with the thick fog of arousal to be of much use at the moment. Luckily, he didn't have to worry about regaining his balance. Alison yanked him to his feet and pulled him securely against her, pulling him in for another kiss.

She began to become a little more adventurous with her hands, and began to run her hands curiously over his shoulders, arms, and back. She could feel how taught his muscles were. He was just as pent up and ready for release as she was.

If only she knew how to get him there…

Once again she had to admit to her own inexperience as she pulled away just enough to look Brandon in the eye.

"What next?" She asked breathlessly.

Brandon answered by reaching his hands around to her back where her vac suit was still unzipped. He gingerly ran his hand over her shoulder and down her back until finally sliding it between the rubbery material and warm skin. It was nothing more than a gentle suggestion as to what she should do next. He had learned that he held no power here, and that Alison wasn't afraid to remind him of that.

That didn't help her from being nervous as she thought about the implications of what she was about to do. Brandon had seen more of her body than anyone else, or at least anyone with her permission, but to show him all of how broken she was at once? She couldn't even fathom being that exposed.

Brandon reached up and gently tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear before caressing her cheek. Alison closed her eyes and leaned into his touch.

"I thought I told you to stop squirming," she murmured.

Brandon's only response was a small laugh. Alison was struck by the fact that that may very well have been the first laugh she had ever caused. Why not go for another first while she was at it.

She gave Brandon a quick kiss on the cheek before taking a step back from him. She reached down and unclipped her sidearm from her thigh, and set it on the floor before unzipping her BDU pants and letting them fall as well. She was left in just her skin tight readiness gear, which already made her feel exposed enough.

She couldn't meet Brandon's gaze as she reached for the collar of her suit and began to free herself from it. She decided to strip quickly before she had time to think about it, and began to unceremoniously feel the rubber material from her skin until all of it lay at her feet, leaving her completely exposed.

As she stood back up and prepared to meet Brandon's gaze she expected rejection and disgust, but what she got was anything but.

Brandon stared in awe at her newly revealed form. Alison's body was unlike any other woman he had seen. It was a canvas, painted with scars of pain and experience from untold years of combat. It wasn't thin and feminine, it was hardened with defined muscles and jagged scars running in a crisscross pattern over it. Her generous curves stood out against her toned figure.

She was the very image of feminine beauty. Brandon wanted nothing more than to run his hands over the mauled flesh and admire it in all its glory. Yet still, her eyes betrayed her nervousness at how he would receive her.

He approached her slowly and leaned in so that his mouth rested next to her ear.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered to her.

He felt Alison relax as she opened up enough to let his acceptance in. Brandon let his mouth wander down to her neck and lightly sank his teeth into her untouched flesh.

Alison hissed and tensed as pleasure shot through her. Her hands darted up to grab his shoulders. She was still weary about giving him more control. Even if it felt good, how could she know he wouldn't betray her?

Brandon pulled away a moment later and looked her in the eye. She could see in his expression just how pent up he was. He wanted nothing more than to have the freedom to please her, and she was starting to agree with him more and more by the second.

She sighed and forced herself to relax. Brandon wouldn't hurt her, he had proven that much. It was time to let him take the lead.

Brandon smiled appreciatively as Alison relaxed her grip on him. She kept her hands firmly planted on his shoulders so he couldn't leave, but as far as he was concerned he had all the movement he needed. He once again leaned in to kiss her neck, causing Alison to let out a sigh and further relax as she allowed Brandon to please her. He moved his lips over her neck until he reached her collarbone, where he once again but down lovingly, causing Alison to inhale sharply.

He was honored to be the first one to give her these sensations. How she'd gone the whole war without anyone else in her life was beyond him. He knew he wouldn't have lasted that long.

He began to drag his kisses, and his hands, lower. First over her shoulders, then down over her breasts. Alison let out a strangled yelp and then a moan as he swirled his tongue around her right breast.

Alison dug her fingers into his shoulders until she was sure her nails were drawing blood. How could she even describe a sensation like that. It felt like an electric shock had shot through her body, straight down to her core where it had started to warm a part of herself that had long been neglected. Brandon brought his hand over to squeeze and play with her free breast as she tensed and moaned with every new and foreign sensation.

That feeling in her core began to build with every new sensation, like she was climbing towards something that she knew would end in a crash of pleasure. She felt the warmth between her legs increase with every passing second, bring her closer to falling off that edge, until it stopped as Brandon removed his mouth and hand. She first felt a wave of disappointment wash over her, and then slowly she became unnaturally angry, like she had just been played.

She growled loudly and dug her fingers into Brandon's scalp once again, this time skull crushingly hard, and tried to force his head back towards her breast, but a moment later she realized what he was doing.

He moved down her body slowly, placing kisses on her long hidden flesh, and making sure to give attention to each neglected scar until finally his mouth landed mere inches from the source of her heat and pleasure.

Now Brandon was on his knees, looking up at her like a believer at worship. His eyes asked her silently if he should continue. Alison almost slipped and begged him to continue his work, but she bit her lip hard and stopped herself. She was in charge, wasn't she? If the last hour had proved anything it was that Brandon would do anything she asked of him.

"Ahhhh," she moaned as he placed another questioning kiss mere inches from her core.

"Tease me again and I'll show you what happens when you cross a Spartan."

The bite in her voice caused Brandon's eyes to go wide. He obediently quit messing around, and buried his lips in her womanhood. Alison gasped in pleasure as his mouth finally gave attention where she needed it most. She felt every pulsating sensation as Brandon darted his tongue out and began to circle her clitoris with it. Her body tensed, and heat began to rapidly pool between her legs.

This was the pleasure she had been missing. How had she ever lived without it?

She managed to regain her senses just enough to look down at Brandon as he greedily lapped up the warm juices that had begun to run from her core. She swore that if he stopped now she'd give him a whole lot more than bruises to worry about.

Alison became more and more tense Brandon pushed her closer to the edge. All of the years of pent up tension was brought to the surface as Brandon prepared to give her a release she didn't fully understand. She braced herself, clenching her hands into fists as felt her legs get weak and her body get unbearably close.

Then all at once she fell over the edge.

Her orgasm ripped across her body, sending pleasure throughout her body and an electric shock down her spine and to her core. She cried out Brandon's name as her strong legs gave out and she collapsed onto the floor. She felt the pleasure pulsate through her in waves as she let this high pass through her system.

Her head spun as she took a moment to breath and recover. As her rapid, shallow breaths slowly became more steady and the pleasure subsided, she began to feel other things, like the cold, hard floor against her face, and Brandon's body beneath the rest of her.

She felt a warm breath caress her ear and then a gentle kiss on cheek as she slowly opened her eyes and peeled her head off the floor. Brandon was pinned beneath her on the floor. He hadn't stood a chance of catching her, so he fell with her as best he could and ended up laying on his back with Alison straddling him.

Her eyes were heavy and focusing on his face as she tried to speak was nearly impossible. Was what she had just felt an orgasm? She had brought herself to orgasm a few times, usually begrudgingly. She hated the distraction it afforded. Occasionally though, the need became to great and she was forced to try and relieve the tension. Her attempts were always underwhelming though, and occasionally left her more frustrated than when she had started.

This, however, was entirely different.

"Brandon, I…." She said breathlessly.

"That was amazing. I can't….I've never felt…."

Alison stumbled over her words until finally she came back to focus on Brandon. He was clearly pleased from having given her such a release, but the look of want in his eyes and the hard member pressed against her stomachs told her he hadn't been satisfied like she had.

Alison's throat went dry. She knew basic human biology, and knew how sex was had, she just wasn't sure if she could have it, or if she would be able to please him.

Before she could make a decision though, Brandon peeled himself off the floor and sat up to give her a sloppy kiss. She tasted something slightly sweet that hadn't been there before. It wasn't long before she realized she was tasting herself, something that wasn't nearly as digesting as she would have envisioned. If anything it only reminded her of the pleasure Brandon had given her, and the pleasure she now wanted to give to him.

Brandon broke and rested his forehead against Alison's.

"Did you enjoy it?"

Alison sighed and allowed herself to crack a smile. He really was always thinking about her.

Alison looked at him pointedly, and then pushed him back down to the floor.

"Yes," she said, now a little more certain of herself.

"And now you're going to enjoy yourself too."

Brandon's eyes widened at her statement. Alison couldn't tell if there was more fear or lust in them as he began to form ideas about what she was going to do.

Alison gave him a sideways grin and aggressively ran her hands over his still clothed chest. She wasn't going to leave him guessing.

Her mind was washed in a sea of adrenaline, all her rational thought had left her, so when she reached down to start removing his clothes she was far from careful. She tore his ACU blouse at the seams, the zipper surrendered, exposing his own Vac suit, which was luckily thinner and easier to remove than her own.

She wrapped her hands around his back and pulled him tight against her. The heat in her core once again began to intensify as their lips met and she felt his erection press into her leg. She wasted no time in yanking the zipper down the back of his vac suit and pulling it off of him, finally exposing his own naked skin to her….

….And it was at this point that Brandon began to feel very exposed. He'd never been naked before someone as impressive as Alison. She was in the peak of human physical shape in every possible way; gorgeous curves, solid muscles, soft lips, and all the scars to prove she had earned every bit of it.

He was an Army officer. He wasn't out of shape...but that was about all he had going for him.

Yet the lust in Alison's eyes was enough to set the ship on fire. She wanted him, plain and simple. That notion sent a powerful spike of desire through Brandon's own body. For a second he let go of the nagging feeling that she was too good for him and allowed himself to experience her taught body pressed against his, her tongue aggressively claiming his mouth.

He wanted nothing more than to give her even more pleasure. He slid his hand between them and grabbed one of her breasts, squeezing and kneading it softly. Alison's lips parted in a sigh of pleasure as she broke the kiss and allowed herself to experience the sensation.

God, was she beautiful. Her messy, jet black hair hung in front of her face as her bright blue eyes stared wide eyed off into the distance.

 _He'd never find anyone like her again._

A moment later, however, he felt her hand clamp down over his. She wrenched it away from her chest and used it to force him back to the floor, pinning it above his head along with his other arm.

Brandon gasped at how quickly he was reminded that, as beautiful as Alison was, she was also dangerous. She could walk all over him, and take whatever her heart desired from him, and he knew he would be powerless to say now.

He nearly opened his mouth to say something, but she silenced him with a kiss.

"I've had my fun," she said suggestively.

"This is about you now."

Brandon swallowed hard as he felt Alison's warm, hand run down his chest, causing him to involuntarily twitch and writhe as his hands were still pinned.

Her first, gentle touch sent a shiver of pleasure down his spine. Alison smirked, clearly realizing what her touch was doing to him, before grabbing him in her hand roughly. Brandon gasped as his vision went white. Even through his pants he could feel the warmth of her hands. All of his thoughts were replaced by a single, aching need for her to touch him and to bring him ecstasy.

"Alison please," he cried out involuntarily.

He was well passed the point of shame by now. He needed her, and he wasn't afraid to admit it. Alison's lust filled eyes dilated even further even further as she saw his complete need for her. She began to stroke him painfully slowly through his pant as he moaned and writhed, wanting, and needing more.

"Alison," he pleaded one last time before she finally had mercy on him.

With another loud rip she removed his pants and pulled his Vac suit down hard, allowing the cold air to hit him. It wasn't long, however, before her calloused hands were on his member again, gripping it tightly and stroking it hard, bringing him ever closer to the edge. He had to resist the urge to empty himself right then and there before the goddess of a woman who sat over him. He wanted to climax with her tonight. To give and receive the most intimate of pleasure.

"Alison, please, stop….ugh...let me come inside you."

Alison's strokes suddenly became slower and less aggressive as those words left his mouth. The look on her face was a bit frightened. Clearly she knew how to do that, but she also knew this was a momentous occasion.

She took a hold of him carefully, and slowly positioned herself to sink down onto it. Brandon felt her heat before she even touched him, and when he finally felt her soft heat touch him he thrust his hips toward her. He needed to be inside of her. He needed the sweet release only she could bring him.

He heard Alison take a deep breath, and then slowly sink down onto him, taking his whole weeping, throbbing, pulsating, member into her as she groaned loudly. Brandon clenched his teeth and grunted as he felt her take him in. It had been years since he'd had this kind of intimacy with a woman. He needed to come inside of her and with her.

He desperately bucked against her to get friction, but Alison was still resting on him and adjusting. He began to think she knew just how much of a tease she was being.

"Alison," he cried out once again.

"Please."

A moment later she began to start moving. She slowly pulled herself almost all the way off of him, before sinking back down onto him and taking him back into her again.

Brandon moaned in pleasure as she moved once again, taking him in and out, in and out as she began to heat up around him. He had nothing to grip onto as his hands were still pinned above his head, and his eyes were shut tight in ecstasy. Before long even Alison had to stop teasing him, and she began moving at a frantic pace, rocking as he quickly came closer to his release. He gritted his teeth and fought desperately to keep himself from coming. He could feel Alison's walls tighten around him as she drifted closer to a second orgasm.

It wouldn't be long before she became to much for him, and he would spill himself inside her. He fought to open his eyes and watch Alison as she rocked in ecstasy over him, her own eyes closed as her long black hair swung over her face and cascaded down her breasts. Alison felt her heart pound against her rib cage as she rapidly inhaled and exhaled, clinging desperately to his shoulders for support.

"Brandon I…." she said between ragged breaths, and then her talking was cut off by a scream of pleasure.

Her walls clamped down on him hard as she cried out and writhed on top of him as her second orgasm ripped through her.

Wanton and beautiful, she moved over him until Brandon could hold on any longer. He gave up and surrendered himself to her, spilling himself inside her as he cried out her name. The pain and pleasure of being with a spartan all rolled together for a moment as his mind went white with the lance of pleasure that shot through it. His breath was ragged, his heart was racing, and yet he was completely at peace.

Slowly he came off of his high as his breathing slowed, his heart rate began to still, and he focused himself back onto her. She had collapsed against his chest. Her eyes were sealed tight shut as she rested her head against his chest, breathing raggedly. Her hands still dug into his shoulders as she waited for the waves of her orgasm to subside.

Having her laying on him was awkward. She was still much larger than him, and it didn't afford him much movement, but he made do. He reached forward and ran a hand through her soaked, jet black hair, brushing it to the side of her sweat covered forehead and placed a gentle kiss on her cheek.

Alison let out a long, satisfied breath, like someone in the desert who had just been offered drink, and opened her eyes just enough to fix them on his.

Brandon couldn't describe how the look in her eyes made him feel. It wasn't hardened and searching like it was when they had been on Taurus VI, it was softer, and more at peace. To know he had taken her worries away was something that caused him to swell with pride. He hadn't ever expected to touch her, much less satisfy her in such an intimate way for the very first time.

"You are so beautiful," were the only words that Brandon could form as he looked once again upon her perfect form.

Her eyes were glassy and unfocused as she stared back at him. She was completely out of it. He imagined that after forty years of never feeling anything an experience like this would do a person. For her, who never felt anything outside the confines of a suit made of silicone rubber, hydrostatic gel, and steel, any sensation could be shocking.

To Alison, however, shocking was an understatement.

The experience was perspective altering. She realized this as she drunkenly leaned in to kiss him for no other reason than the mutual pleasure it would bring. Her lips sloppily met his as her mind tried to wrap its head around what was happening, what she was doing, and why she was doing it. She'd never actively tried to seek pleasure in her life, just go follow orders. Now she wasn't sure she could live without it.

 _Am I doing this because it feels good? Am I doing this because I love him? Do I even understand love?_

"Is this love?" She whispered to him shyly.

Brandon laughed lowly and caressed her cheek.

"It's part of it," he whispered back.

Alison felt a shiver run down her back. If this was only part of what love was then what was the rest?

The way he gently stroked his fingers through her hair, the way his gentle kisses soothed her and made her eyelids grow heavy. She knew that laying on top of him probably wasn't a comfortable position, but she wasn't sure she could stand being away from him for the few brief seconds it would take to change positions.

Eventually, she gave in and rolled off of him, allowing herself to stare blankly up at the sealing. So many sensations, so little time to process them. How many times would she have to make love before she could recognize what every one of them meant? Would she ever be able to?

And then she felt another sensation, one she hoped she'd be able to feel many times throughout her life. She felt Brandon curl up next to her, and rest his head against her chest.

"You're loved, Alison," he whispered to her.

Alison's heart leapt, even as her eyes grew heavy. There was little she could do to keep herself from closing her eyes and falling asleep.

Tomorrow her day would be hell on earth, but for now she was right where she needed to be.

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 **Note to fans of my other stories: keep a look out for a special guest star next chapter ;)**

 **See you then!**


	19. Chapter 19: Combat Ready

**AN: Hello Spartans!**

 **I again apologize for the lack of recent updates. This time I'd say that is mostly due to preparations for RTX 2017 taking me a way too long. I completed Rev B of a cosplay loosely based on LT. Brandon's armor in under a month(record time for me) but unfortunately that needed up taking a tole on almost EVERYTHING in my life. Now, however, I should be back on track.**

 **As promised, this chapter will feature Espionage, romance, intrigue, angst, and special guests. I hope you enjoy.**

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 **"No combat ready unit has ever passed inspection,"**

 **-Excerpt from Murphy's Laws of Combat Operations**

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Location: UNSC _Murphy's Law_ , standoff distance from Forerunner installation X50, 05:30 hours standard military time. January 9th, 2559.

Alison woke gently for the first time in ages. Usually her mornings involved a violent dream, jerking awake, a cold sweat, and a bone chilling ache that would last long into her day.

Alison open her eyes slowly and stretched out on the grass. She was laying in the soft grass of Taurus VI with her head in David's lap, her hand intertwined with his as they stared off into the distance. The URF banner that once flew over the small town in the distance was gone, and the UNSC flag hadn't replaced it. A red sundress with a pattern of green stemmed roses replaced her uniform. David wore a pair of casual slacks and shirt that fit him a lot better than his baggy ACUs. His dark circles were gone, and so was the haunted look in his eyes. His hair had grown out from his buzz cut and was now a curly mop. The warm breeze caressed her skin freely, yet she didn't feel threatened by her lack of armor. Soft words of love from David found their way to her and soothed her eyes closed. Somehow in this world she was safe for a little while. It was like the war had never come to Taurus VI. For a moment, she swore it was like the war never came to her.

Eventually she opened her eyes and found the cold interior of the _Murphy's Law_ staring back at her. Even so, the realization that life would march on didn't hit her so hard. A gentle warmth of the one she loved comforted her as her eyes fell upon the cold, dark interior of a warship once again. He had rolled off of her. His hands felt cold draped over her augmented body, so she decided to help him warm them up.

She rolled over onto her side and placed one hand between her head and the pillow, and folded his other hand into hers. David began to stir.

After a moment David began to drunkenly return the kiss, before she pulled away and his eyes slowly opened. His eyes lit up and a smile crossed his face as he opened his eyes.

"Hey beautiful," he said with a lopsided grin.

Alison rolled her eyes and got back to kissing him. He threaded a hand gently into her messy hair and gladly accepted. Alison once again forgot where she really was. All she felt was cool air, soft sheets, and David. For all she knew she was back on that fantasy world she dreamed up for herself.

"How'd you sleep?" He asked when she pulled away.

"Fine," said Alison with a sleepy smile. "I dreamed about something good for the first time in ages. It was about us, back on Taurus VI, after all this is over. The URF left and we were laying in the grass watching the sunset..."

Alison stopped herself before her rambling continued any further. Her nerves got the better of her once again as she realized she was talking about plans Brandon never agreed to. What if he didn't want that? What if he didn't care to see her again after this mission?

Her fear were put to rest when Brandon began to run a hand up and down her bare back, occasionally tracing a scar with his finger tips. Alison wasn't as scared of letting him see or touch her damaged skin anymore. Thoughts of rejection still nagged her in the back of her mind, but they were fading.

"That sounds wonderful," he whispered.

Alison smiled down at him. Why did she ever doubt him?

She leaned back and stretched to shrug off the lethargy of the morning, sighing as she felt her back crack and her muscles ease out of slumber. When she opened her eyes to look down at Brandon she noticed him watching her intently as she inadvertently showed off her cleavage for him.

"It's not polite to stare," she said. She almost blushed, but managed to keep her cool.

Brandon laughed and sat up next to her, resting his hands on her waist.

"You're making it hard not to."

Alison once again rolled her eyes and pulled him into an embrace until his face was only inches from hers.

"Brandon. Oh, shit..." Alison tried to fight back the embarrassment that came from her using his last name once again. It just didn't seem to be proper to use a title usually associated with military formality at a time like this.

"David." she corrected herself.

Brandon laughed lightly, in the sort of way that told her he really didn't care what she called him.

Alison rolled her eyes and continued with what she was trying to say.

"I forgot to tell you last night. I meant to say I..."

Alison's throat went dry a moment before she could let out the three words that David used to change her life. It didn't help that the look of pride plastered on his face told her he knew exactly what she wanted to say. He used her moment of silence to lean in and steal a quick kiss.

Alison glared at him. She wasn't really angry, it was a sweet action, but so damn...annoying? Defiant? Why did she even care?

Oh well, she'd get him back for that later.

Alison tried to clear her throat before finally finishing her thought.

"I love you." Her voice was hoarse and nervous like a fresh recruit trying to address a drill sergeant who hadn't yet finished telling them how many ways he was going to rip them a new asshole. What part of her gave her the audacity to pin an officer to the wall and make out with him yet wouldn't allow her to tell him she loved him?

Brandon smiled sweetly at her and leaned in to whisper in her ear.

"I love you too," he said back gently.

Once again she felt the same not-quite-anger mixed with pleasure feeling that annoyed her to no end. She wasn't sure whether or not she wanted to kiss him or punch him.

Alison smirked. It didn't really matter. He'd end up with the same number of bruises either way.

She bravely leaned down and sealed her lips to his neck, new territory for her. Brandon fidgeted and moaned. Clearly this was a sensitive spot for him. She placed a few, probing kisses before finally deciding to turn the tables on him and bite down hard on the sensitive skin.

Brandon yelled in pain and pulled her closer as Alison let out a low laugh. His reaction was curious. It had been painful for him, yet he'd still pulled her closer as though he'd liked it. She'd have to play around with this a little more in the future.

She pulled back a little bit and gave him an evil grin, before resting her head on his shoulder and taking in a deep breath. This sure was a helluva a way to start her morning.

"We don't have a whole lot of time. The ODSTs will be here soon. We should get ready," he said with a hint of sadness in his voice.

Alison frowned, and almost instinctively wrapped her arms around David a little tighter. She didn't want this to end. She didn't want him more than a foot away from her ever again. Guilt replaced her euphoria as she realized she was actively trying to avoid her duties. Service to the UNSC was her entire life. How could she neglect it for her own pleasure? Brandon's lips on her cheek banished the guilt.

She pulled away and cupped his face, looking him in the eyes. He was exhausted, but there was also something else behind his eyes.

Alison frowned. She knew what he was thinking about. Those ODSTs that he was about to meet for the first time would also be heading into combat with him in the next five hours. This was the first real battle he'd been in since his last encounter with the Covenant on reach. She wasn't sure what it would do to him if he lost them...Or if he lost her. She needed to remember that her life didn't only matter to herself now. If she got hurt, or died, he would be heartbroken.

"Hey, Brandon," she said, bringing his forehead to meet hers.

"Yeah?" he asked and closed his eyes.

"It's all gonna be alright," she said softly. "You, me, everyone. We're all gonna be fine. We're just going in to take out some low level terrorists. We can handle it."

Brandon said nothing for a long minute. Just breathing as his grip on her shoulders tightened.

"I can't..." he said, before his words caught in his throat. "I can't even think about that."

Alison nodded and pulled him close into a secure hug. They held there for what was probably half a minute, but it seemed like an eternity to both of them. It had been a long time since either one of them had a simple moment of compassion like that. For Alison it was completely foreign, for Brandon it was nostalgic in a way.

He remembered, for a moment, Christine's face, an image that would forever be etched into his mind. Somehow, he knew that from some other plane of existence, she was watching this right now. And she would love Alison. She didn't have an angry or jealous bone in her body.

"She's such a sweet girl, David," she would say to him with a serene smile, if they ever met again in the afterlife. "I'm sure you'll take good care of her."

Brandon's mind melted back into the present and into Alison's gaze. She noticed he was spaced out, but still held him, searching his face for clues.

"Hey," said Alison after a moment. "We don't have long before the ODSTs get here, so unless you want them to catch you in the shower with me, we better get going."

Brandon's eyes went wide at the suggestion, and Alison gave him a sly grin. He returned the grin a moment later, before pulling her into a kiss. Alison laughed and grabbed him by the wrist, pulling him to his feet. The two of them quickly dressed before sneaking off into the corridors of the _Murphy's law_. Like most ships, the _'Law_ had separate showers for enlisted and junior officers.

 _I guess being the only junior officer has perks sometimes._

* * *

Location: UNSC _Murphy's Law_ , standoff distance from Forerunner installation X50, 06:15 hours standard military time. January 9th, 2559.

When Brandon and Alison reached the armory to get ready BB was waiting for them and requisitioned suppressors and active camo modules for both of them. Brandon knew the equipment would come in handy, but the fact he even needed it at all made him a little uneasy.

He wasn't used to this kind of operation. As part of an airborne regiment he'd trained long ago for drops behind enemy lines, but in practice he'd rarely used any kind of stealth while fighting the covenant. Most of his battles involved orbital artillery strikes, massive open combat against wave after wave of disposable covenant infantry, and armored support if he was lucky.

Even more unnerving was the fact that BB immediately addressed the fact that he was wearing only his vac suit, and offered to find him a new pair of ACUs if he was missing his own. Brandon cringed. BB obviously knew what was going on between him and Alison, and that meant Osman knew, which left him begging the question of why he hadn't died a horrible death.

He looked to Alison, and Alison looked back to him. She didn't look nearly as worried, but then again Osman was her Spartan sister. Hopefully she was confident she could talk her down.

Brandon pulled on a new set of ACUs, secured his armor, and picked up his weapon. He walked out of the armory, followed by Alison, at the same moment Mal and Vaz walked in. They gave them a funny look, but that was normal. They'd thought something was going on for a long time, even when nothing was going on.

He felt Alison's hand bump into his shoulder on the way to the hangar, and he turned to look up at her. Her impassive visor was staring back at him, but the action was clear.

It'll be alright.

And he believed every unspoken word of it.

Brandon examined the hangar and noticed little out of place other than Devereaux's missing pelican and Osman pacing impatiently near the hangar bay door. She looked up as the two of them entered the hangar.

"Lieutenant!"

 _Fuck_.

He ran to the other side of the hangar and snapped to attention.

"Yes, Admiral," he said

He left his helmet on to conceal his facial expressions. Maybe it would also give him a few more seconds of life.

"The ODSTs will be arriving in the hour. Is everyone else ready?"

Brandon nodded. "Yes Admiral. The ODSTs are armoring up as we speak, and Alison and I are ready to go."

Brandon might have been looking a little too hard, but he swore he saw a flash of something into the Admiral's eyes when he said 'Alison and I.' He wasn't sure what something was, but he took a guess that it wasn't good.

"Good," she continued. "Meet me on the bridge to review the plan one last time."

Brandon followed the Admiral to the bridge. He doubted she was going to kill him, or even court-martial him, at least for now. He had an operation to lead in an hour, but that didn't mean her revenge wouldn't come to pass eventually.

The meeting went off without a problem. They talked over the plan, confirmed details, and then quickly cut the briefing short when BB broadcasted over the PA that the ODSTs were about to arrive.

Brandon, however, couldn't shake the feeling that Osman was giving him dirty looks. It would be his luck that this would go wrong. Everyone he'd known and loved was dead or estranged. He'd just be adding Alison to a long list.

When he and the Admiral finally returned to the hangar to greet the ODSTs, he saw Alison standing very close to the hangar's energy shield, Almost dangerously close. She also had her helmet off in the hangar, which was against regulation unless the metal blast door was closed.

He glanced up at her icy blue eyes as they stared out blankly into the blackness of space. She looked anxious. Maybe excited? It wasn't an emotion he'd seen on her before.

She glanced down at him as he appeared in her peripheral vision and smiled at him a little wider than usual. Maybe it was left over from last night, but something about her seemed more restless than usual.

"What's going on?" He asked.

Alison paused, clenching and unclenching her armored fists slowly.

"Someone I used to know very well is coming on this mission with us," she said simply.

The corner of Brandon's mouth turned up. Alison had suffered enough tragedy this week. It'd be good for her to finally meet an old friend.

"Another Spartan?" He asked.

Alison nodded, before she continued. "Naomi-010. She was always the quiet one out of our group, but we got along pretty well."

Brandon almost laughed at the notion of a Spartan who was more quiet than Alison. When Alison was finished with her sentence she once again returned to staring out at the blackness of spacer.

"I love you," Brandon whispered.

Alison glanced down at him for another brief moment and let her tense facial features relax.

"I love you, too."

The too of them wrapped up their conversation just in time for them to hear the hangar alarm go off. Mal, Vaz, and the Admiral's running boots approached them from behind as a hole the shape of a pelican from the nose on appeared in the hangar's energy shield. Halfway through the shield the pelican decloaked in a shimmer of blue light as it's hexagonal baffling panels deactivated, before landing softly onto the deck.

The rear door swung open with a hiss, and out stepped a dark blue armored form not all that different from Alison, with the numbers 010 emblazoned on her chest piece. She was followed by a fully armed complement of ODSTs, an aircrew, and Devereaux, but all the crew's eyes were clearly fixed on the armored demi-goddess before them.

Alison immediately began walking towards her. To anyone else her stride would have looked methodical and confident, but it was her urgency and excitement in her facial features that told Brandon she was bursting with excitement.

She approached the other Spartan, and wordlessly reached up to swipe two fingers across her face plate. Brandon could tell this was a very personal gesture. He knew how trusting a Spartan needed to be of someone to allow even the smallest amount of physical contact.

The other Spartan reached up and removed her helmet, revealing her small smile, her icy gray eyes, and allowing her blonde hair to fall from underneath it.

"It's been a long time," said Naomi.

"Too long," responded Alison.

Brandon knew her well enough to hear the hint of nostalgia in her tone.

Naomi nodded.

"All that time hasn't made you rusty has it?" She said.

"Not exactly," responded Alison. "Some of us had a war to fight. While you were resting and getting fitted with fancy gear."

Naomi rolled her eyes.

"Well, I guess I'm back to where I belong then."

Brandon smiled at the reunion, but noticed Naomi's eyes were searching the room for something other than Alison. Eventually she stopped when her eyes settled on a figure moving towards her out of the crowd of ODSTs.

"Vaz!" She blurted out, almost excitedly.

But he didn't seem quite so enthusiastic about seeing her.

As Brandon watched Vasily approach the newly disembarked Spartan, he began to notice the reluctance with which the ODST approached her. He seemed to air on the side of caution, as though wondering whether she would accept him or not.

Alison stood back from the two of them and let the interaction run its course. She assumed a vaguely defensive posture in case she needed to protect her sister, but didn't seem ready to try and mediate between the two. This wasn't her area of expertise.

Vaz looked deeply hurt. Whatever had really gone on between these two cut him brutally. Now he was picking up the pieces.

He lowered his head, almost as though he was bowing, and whispered something to Naomi that Brandon could only assume must have been an apology of some sort. He tensed, as though bracing himself for a physical punch, or at very least a torrent of hurtful words.

What he got was quite the opposite.

Naomi smiled down at him, and a look as close to elation as Brandon had ever seen cross a Spartan's face blossomed over hers. She reached down and took hold of his wrist with a strong, almost possessive grip. Brandon knew that it was an intimate gesture, unique to Spartans and their unfamiliarity with human contact. Naomi said something to Vasily that Brandon could neither hear nor lip read, but he knew that, whatever she said, it meant that Vaz's apology wasn't needed.

Vaz's looked up at her and smiled, holding her joyful gaze for a moment longer. Had they been somewhere more intimate and hidden, Brandon knew that neither one of them would still be sitting and staring, but this was still a warship, and some rules had to be followed. Brandon took this as his cue to approach the group. Alison smiled as she watched him approach.

"Lieutenant, sir!" Said Naomi as she snapped to attention.

"As you were Spartan," he said, and she seemed to relax slightly, but still looked on him carefully as an outsider.

"Naomi," said Alison, "I'd like you to meet Lieutenant David Brandon."

Then she reached down and made the same two finger swiping motion across his face, as though to say to Naomi "he's mine."

Naomi's eyes went wide, and then narrow as she began to scrutinize the Lieutenant. Her laser beam eyes dissected every last inch of him and scrutinize him for any possible imperfection. He felt very self conscious of any dings or scrapes that he might have on his armor.

Naomi glanced back at Alison and cocked her head to the side as if to say "you could've done better."

Alison glanced down to Vaz and then raised her eyebrow in return, as if to say "and you did?"

The two of them shared a small laugh before Naomi once again returned her attention to the Lieutenant.

"It's nice to meet you," said Naomi. "I look forward to serving under you."

Brandon was still getting used to the notion of someone who was seven foot two serving under him, but decided to shrug it off.

He nodded, and then motioned for Alison to follow him over to the group of ODSTs that had already unloaded most of their gear onto the hangar's deck.

"Did I pass the test?" He asked as he was walking.

Alison shrugged.

"Only time will tell. Naomi is a tough one to please though."

Brandon laughed slightly.

"Good thing you're the only one I need to please"

Alison raised an eyebrow and looked at him in confusion. She looked like she was ready to ask what she meant, but stopped when she saw the obvious grin on the Lieutenant's face. She rolled her eyes before setting them forward once again.

Brandon glanced around the group of ODSTs, looking for their leader, until his eyes settled on a veteran ODST with a sergeant major emblem painted onto her chest piece. Her armor had red and white accents that made designs reminiscent of bones and blood. Her recon helmet, marked with hollow, skull like eyes and sharp, shark like teeth, showed that this probably wasn't her first time working for ONI. Her raised voice cut through the rowdy group of spec ops soldiers while her piercing green eyes pinned down anything that wasn't too her liking. A twin pair of small combat knives was tucked into a sheath that was woven intricately into her auburn hair, and a large, jagged scar ran over one of her eyes.

Despite all of these visually distinguishing features, however, the most eye catching part of her was what was missing from her. Both of her legs, from the knee down, were replaced with skeletal looking robotic prosthetics with pieces of ODST armor and a pair of ODST boots welded onto them.

Brandon didn't let her injuries fool him, however. This woman was clearly deadly.

As Brandon approached she snapped to attention as well.

"Lieutenant, sir!" She said as though she was echoing Naomi.

"At ease trooper," he responded.

The ODST complied and then glanced over to the Spartan standing next to him. A look of contempt came over her that she didn't even remotely try to hide. Alison didn't react to it. She was probably too accustomed to the old Spartan-ODST rivalry to care.

"Master Sergeant Willow Mathews, 105th ODSTs. I take it you'll be our lead on this mission?"

Brandon nodded. "I will. Have you been briefed on the mission?"

Willow shook her head.

"No. We stopped asking questions the moment we heard 'ONI' come out of your pilot's mouth. I would've at least liked to have been briefed before the Army thought," she said with a bit of good nature spite.

Brandon sighed. He should have seen that one coming.

While Brandon got underway briefing the new ODSTs, Alison sat down on a crate and began to load a spare pistol magazine while she watched Brandon converse. He was, what? Ten feet away from her, and still she wanted him closer. She wanted him right back next to her, intertwined with her and kissing her. How would she ever manage a distraction like this?

And the thought of him talking to someone like this Willow Mathews made her blood boil. Why was she so upset? He loved her, and he was simply talking to another woman, but still this newfound jealousy boiled inside her.

She put on her helmet to hide her expression from any onlookers.

She felt a tap on her forearm plate and looked to see Devereaux standing next to her. For whatever reason, she had a shining smile on her face.

"Wow, you must've had a good time last night. I can tell you're freshly fucked even through that visor of yours," said Devereaux with a lopsided grin.

Alison's heart skipped a beat as she nearly jumped in surprise, and then immediately turned to anger. How could it possibly be that obvious. Did sex have physical symptoms?

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said with biting anger in her voice.

Devereaux laughed and rolled her eyes.

"Oh please. I've seen you staring at him this entire time. Your visor has been fixated on him and that new ODST chick for five minutes straight. Clearly you don't have enough faith that he won't run away with her. Also..."

Devereaux pointed at the magazine Alison was loading. At first Alison didn't see what she was looking at, but a second later she was once again flooded with horror and anger.

"You've put your rounds in the magazine backwards," whispered Devereaux in a playfully sarcastic tone.

Alison ripped off her helmet and barred her teeth at the crass ODST. How could someone have the nerve to jeer about something so intimate to her?

Alison realized how out of character the action was a moment later. She'd never remove her helmet out of anger. Maybe she'd slam it into her enemy's head, but never remove it. What had gotten into her?

Devereaux's attention moved back to Brandon for the moment.

"Oh, and he's even worse than you are," she said with a small laugh.

"He's just like Vaz was after his first night with Naomi. He isn't walking correctly and he's rubbing his wrists every few moments which means they must be pretty sore..."

Devereaux flashed her a sideways grin.

"So did you tie him up or just hold him down?"

Alison's skin was the color of her armor, and she wasn't sure if that was because she was more embarrassed than she had ever been in her life, or because it was taking all her strength to stop herself from tearing Devereaux's head off.

The ODST gave Alison one last casual smile before sitting down onto a crate next to her, leaving Alison to simmer in her rage. That was until Brandon appeared in her peripheral vision. He gave her a quick smile as he passed, and somehow that was enough to soothe her anger, at least for the moment.

The lieutenant and the master sergeant made their way over to admiral Osman, who was standing near the parked pelican. The three of them exchanged formalities and conversed for a brief moment, before the admiral called the ODSTs and Spartans over to her. Without question, they all lined up in formation with the two Spartans in the front, while Osman stood on a crate in front of the formation, flanked by Willow and Brandon, ready to give her speech.

The ODSTs tensed as the most powerful woman in the UNSC prepared to address them. They were all just soldiers like him. They knew nothing of the motivations of people like the admiral. Only that those motivations usually caused them to wind up dead.

Osman looked to sergeant Mathews, who nodded back to her.

"Attention on deck," called the ODST, not that there was anyone who was noticeably relaxed.

"Good morning troopers. I know this assignment came on short notice for all of you, but I've been told short notice is what ODSTs do best."

She paused for a moment to allow for a resounding chorus of "OORAH!"

Brandon saw Osman's face tense like she wanted to smirk, but never quite got there. Brandon activated a portable holographic projector and threw up a map of the URF compound, as well as a hologram of the AI containment devices they were after. She never told the ODSTs what they were, just that they were dangerous

The admiral explained that the kilo five team would assault the compound while a small team of ODSTs lead by sergeant Mathews broke off and searched for where the United Rebel Front is extracting these devices. The remaining ODSTs would stay on station and cloaked in case either team needed backup.

Lastly, she displayed a hologram of Daniel Ramirez, which thoroughly surprised Brandon. He saw Alison shift uncomfortably in formation in front of the admiral, much more than her typical rigid straight posture would usually allow.

"Your last target is this man, Daniel Ramirez. He is a known traitor to the UNSC and is suspected to be in charge of this URF outfit. If you see him, bring him in for questioning, but if capture is impossible, shoot to kill."

Brandon smirked. He knew there wouldn't be any questioning involved if the Admiral, or Alison, got a hold of that man.

He looked at Alison, and she turned her helmet just enough to acknowledge that she was looking back. He gave her a comforting smile, and saw Naomi bump her hand into Alison's as comforting gesture.

Brandon wondered if Naomi had also been a victim of that evil man. The thought of both her and Alison, six years old and scared with dirty faces, sacred hands, and no way to defend themselves made him sick, and angry.

He took a deep breath. He'd find that man, and he'd let Alison kill him.

"Am I understood Marines!" The admiral shouted.

"Sir, yes sir!"

Sgt. Mathews called the crew to attention, and then Osman dismissed them.

The aircrews filed out to their Pelicans, as did the ODSTs, who also linked a warthog to their dropship's undercarriage, while Kilo-5 boarded tart cart.

Devereaux ran to the cockpit along with the airmen that had accompanied her to act as her support crew, told them not to touch anything, and then began to run a preflight checklist, Mal and Vaz checked their weapons and threaded suppressors onto their rifles, and Brandon sat there and took a deep breath.

He remained himself that this would all be okay. This wants the Covenant they were fighting, it was a small group of rebels. They would be in and out before anyone ever noticed. For a moment, his mind was clear, then he heard two sets of Mjolnir armor on the boarding ramp.

Alison sat down next to him heavily, and Naomi sat across from him. He couldn't tell through her face shield, but he was certain she was still actively criticizing Alison's decision to go with him. Alison, however, didn't seem to worried at all. When the boarding ramp closed and the cabin lights dimmed the first thing she did was reach her hand over to grip his leg, hard.

He let out an audible breath that thankfully his helmet contained, but he knew Alison was probably laughing quietly inside her own.

"VISR check," said Mal as he reached up to turn on his helmet's night vision capabilities.

Alison and Brandon reluctantly removed their hands from each other to do the same, and suddenly their world was outlined by a fluorescent green. Brandon looked over at the outline of Alison's impressive armored form. She'd survived hundreds of battles, and this one would be no different they'd all make it out fine. Then they could deal with real problems.

Brandon tuned his radio to the command channel to listen in on the the final preparations before their take off.

"Athena-6, actual, this is Tart Cart-4, standing by breakaway," said Devereaux.

"Tart Cart-4, go for breakaway. Orbital entry vector- longitude 24 degrees, 45 minutes, 16 seconds, latitude 68 degrees, 12 minutes, 36 seconds, Athena-6 Actual," responded Osman's through the radio.

"Orbital entry vector- longitude 24 degrees, 45 minutes, 16 seconds, latitude 68 degrees, 12 minutes, 36 seconds, Tart Cart-4," she read back.

"Read back correct, Tart Cart-4 you are clear to proceed, Athena-6 Actual."

And a moment later Brandon felt the engines kick in.

Somehow or another this would all work out.

* * *

 **AN: For those of you who are fans of my others fics and OCs, yes, that is the same Willow Mathews from Home is Where the War Is. I always thought she was one of the more interesting characters I created, and that she was wasted on that story. As for how she stayed in the UNSC, I have timelined out what happened to her between then and now so I can eventually wrote it up as a story. For now, however, she's back, and I hope I do her justice.**

 **See you soon Spartans.**


	20. Chapter 20: Hot Drop

**AN: I apologize for yet another long wait. I've been preparing to head off to college, and doing last minute work on my Mandalorian Mercs cosplay kit(shout out to any Mandos in the audience!) for the last couple weeks and haven't had much time to write or do anything for that matter. I'm settled now though so hopefully I'll be able to write more soon.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 **"Teamwork is essential; it gives the enemy other people to shoot at."**

 **-Excerpt from Murphy's Laws of Combat Operations**

* * *

Location: Pelican dropship _Tartcart_ , on approach to URF controlled planet X50, 08:33 hours standard military time, mission clock +00:00. January 9th, 2559.

Every ride with Devereaux was like a orbital roller coaster ride from hell. Luckily, even though it was too large for her to fit a restraining harness over, Alison's armor kept her from being thrown about in her seat while _Tartcart's_ airframe buffeted heavily as it descended through the thick atmosphere of X50.

Brandon, however, wasn't as fortunate. He was thrown about in his seat as the cockpit began to heat up from the friction of the orbital entry. His head hung like he wanted to vomit, but his helmet made that a potentially deadly scenario. Alison could see the fog beginning to form and condense on his blue face shield as his armor's air conditioning system kicked in at full power, but still failed to keep out the heat.

The ODSTs, on the other hand, seemed to be having the time of their lives. Mal and Vaz rolled with every punishing buffet, relishing the feeling of screaming towards the drop point and hardly seeming phased.

"What's the matter Army guy, not used to a little heat?" Asked Mal.

Brandon laughed lowly in return, then tapped his back, where his Army issue jetpack was located.

"You think drop pods are bad jarhead, wait until you try an ionospheric entry in only your armor, with nothing but a parachute and a jetpack to break your fall, said Brandon with a winning grin his helmet hid. "That's how we do it in the airborne."

For once, Mal and Vaz didn't have a witty comeback, and instead went back to enjoying the ride.

Alison allowed herself to enjoy the banter between the three men. Before this op, she would have probably seen such useless dialogue as unprofessional, but now she saw it as a much-needed way for soldiers to blow off steam. Maybe one day she'd even learn to participate.

Alison lurched as she felt the dropship quickly decelerate. She knew the ship had reached a height of 100,000 feet above the planet's surface when it fired it retrorockets to correct its entry so that it could engage its cloaking system. The Devereaux banked the control surfaces and fired the engines downward on low power, allowing the ship to essentially spiral straight down to the insertion point fully cloaked.

Naomi's distorted voice broke through her comm a moment later.

"Ready, sister?" She asked as she removed her DMR from the rack next to her seat.

"Always," responded Alison in an upbeat tone.

Alison took a deep breath, and then glanced at Brandon. She'd been worried before about losing acquaintances in combat. She may be a Spartan, but she was also human, and death meant pain universally. Brandon, however, was more than an acquaintance, and more than a friend. How could she possibly survive losing someone like him?

Slowly the dropship began to buffet less and less as is fell closer to the ground. Alison retrieved her cut down SAW from the seat next to her, attached the LALS to it from her backpack, and checked the ammo counter. 950 rounds.

She felt the ship's vertical thrusters fire harder as it drew closer to the ground and was pushed down into her seat by the upward force of the dropship. She immediately turned to see if Brandon was ok. He too was buried into his seat, and given the awkward position of his hands pinned beneath his rifle, he couldn't move, but he appeared fine. She hoped he was.

Alison's augmentations allowed her to stand under the weight of the dropship's descent and stack up on the rear hatch of the dropship with Naomi.

"Thirty seconds to touchdown!" Yelled Devereaux through the pelican's PA.

Alison began to feel the weight of inertia lift from off her shoulders and her stomach lurch up into her throat as the dropship slowly came to a stop. The thrusters gave one last push, and then the pelican stopped dead.

"Go, go, go!" shouted Devereaux.

The Spartans didn't waste any time. They jumped the remaining twenty or so feet to the ground from the hovering dropship into a small hole in the dusty planet's fluorescent foliage. Alison's boots hit the ground hard, cracking the sandstone-like rock, and throwing up a cloud of dust. She glanced to see if Naomi made it alright, and sure enough she was standing just fine. The two of them made their way deep into the clearing, heavily lit by the neon red glow of the spindly alien flora.

Alison engaged her VISR and scanned for any nearby hostile contacts. Nothing came up, so she flashed a green acknowledgment light to the dropships. A second later a pair of ropes fell. Mal, Vaz, Brandon, Sgt. Mathews and two additional ODSTs rappelled down from the dropship.

"Kilo-5 is down," said Brandon over the radio when he hit the ground.

"Azrael-6 actual is down," said Sgt. Mathews as she did the same.

The dropship's crews retracted the ropes, cloaked, and flew off to loiter and provide air support if necessary.

The soldiers formed up in a circle and projected a map onto the ground while the Spartans provided security. Brandon highlighted their location. He pointed out the road that cut through the jungle on the map and made a wordless motion for Sgt. Mathews to follow the path away from the URF installation to find out where they were pulling the forerunner devices from, while they would breach the compound and destroy any that they already had.

Sgt. Mathews nodded in acknowledgment, before engaging the optical camouflage on her armor. Kilo-5 shortly followed suit, leaving only their IFF tags and the outlines of their armor in VISR to identify where they were.

The eight took off on the road with the Spartans in the lead until they were right up against the clearing. The soldiers held position and waited for Osman's command.

"All callsigns Azrael, this is Athena-6 actual. Your ride is approaching," said Osman over the radio.

Seconds later, a heavy truck along with a long shadow, cast in the bioluminescence of the plants, began to rumble into view as a convoy of vehicles approached up the road.

Sgt. Mathews motioned for her men to move in.

Standing fully cloaked and motionless so as not to disturb the ground around them, the three troopers waited for the two escort warthogs that lead the convoy to pass before jumping and grabbing onto the side of the dual axel armored truck that they were escorting.

"Azrael is Oscar Mike," said Willow a moment later.

Kilo five held the position for a few minutes longer, waiting for the convoy to pass fully before Brandon waved his hand and signaled them to move onto the road and fast march towards the URF compound. Alison took the lead while Naomi covered the back. They had maybe a half a mile to cover before they reached the compound, and Alison wanted to get there and get out as quickly as possible.

Typically the team wouldn't have opted for marching along the road like this, even with the advanced, almost undetectable optical camouflage ONI provided them with, but this mission was time sensitive. They'd just have to rely on their gear and hope that was enough.

Without thinking, Alison glanced over her shoulder to see if Brandon was doing alright, and immediately felt a pang of guilt. Not only was Brandon a capable soldier who didn't need her watchful eye, but her concern for him was beginning to detract from her focus. This was why relationships weren't allowed, wasn't it?

Alison searched her conscience. Did she regret how she felt for Brandon? No. And she always went with her gut. Anything else would eventually pass.

When they began to approach the main gate of the URF facility, they ducked off the main road to keep from crossing into the guard towers and spotlights that lit up the entrance, which would trigger their camo's one flaw; its inability to adjust to rapid change in light.

They dove into the alien fauna and blazed a path towards a less conspicuous section of the perimeter fence.

The Spartans approached the chain link fence slowly in the dark, followed closely by the ODSTs and Brandon. They stopped as two URF soldiers passed along the perimeter, walking only a couple of feet from them, and waited for them to pass.

Alison approached the fence slowly and pulled out a small can of liquid nitrogen. She sprayed down a section of the fence with it, and then drew her heated combat knife and touched it to the metal, which snapped like peanut brittle, exposing a hole for the troopers to enter.

Alison and Naomi went through first and checked both directions to ensure they were clear, before allowing the ODSTs and Brandon follow them through. Alison remembered from the briefing that the camp only had two perimeter patrols at any given time, one for the west side and one for the east, a serious lapse in judgment. All she had to do to buy them enough time to break into the camp without anyone noticing the fence was cut was dispatch that first patrol.

She drew her suppressed M6C pistol and motioned for Naomi to follow her. The two of them chased down the perimeter patrol, and put two low-velocity rounds into the backs of their heads without hardly making a sound. They caught the bloody bodies before they hit the dusty ground, dragged them to the side of a nearby building, and stashed them behind a forklift.

By this time Kilo-5 caught up to them. The Spartans both had blood on their hands, which showed up against their camouflage, but it still wasn't all that noticeable in the pitch-black of the night.

"Athena-6 actual, Kilo-5. Perimeter patrol is down," said Alison. "Proceeding to eliminate AA guns."

"Athena-6 actual copies all," responded Osman. "Proceed."

Without a moment's hesitation, the Mal threw down his rucksack and pulled out spray cans of C8 foaming explosive, as well as detonators. He passed four to Brandon and kept four for himself, then followed Naomi towards the western side of the camp. Brandon followed Alison towards the East.

Kilo-5's reconnaissance revealed the guns were left unmanned and unattended during most times of the day, so planting explosives on them without being detected could be done with relative ease, especially now that the base was mostly dormant.

Alison approached the first AA gun, situated inside a ring of sandbags not far from the wire, with caution and her silenced handgun raised. Brandon did the same, bringing up the rear with his rifle. She did a quick sweep of the area before kneeling down next to the matte OD green weapon and pulling out her can of C8. She coated the control console and computer targeting systems with a thick layer of explosive resin before Brandon threw her a remote detonator, which she quickly jammed into the volatile substance. The resin dried a moment later, causing the detonator to become active and synced to her HUD.

She smiled and glanced at Brandon's shimmering form. They did make a great team, but she didn't have any time to dwell on that now.

They dashed to the next AA gun and repeated the process. Before long Naomi, Mal, and Vaz did the same. Alison blinked an acknowledgment light on her HUD to confirm that the guns were rigged, which Naomi returned like clockwork, just like she did during all those cold days of training on Reach.

Once again Alison found herself pushing aside fond memories as she signaled Brandon. It'd been a long time since she'd been in combat with the people she trusted.

Brandon knelt down for one last radio call to the ' _Law_.

"Athena-6 actual, Kilo-5," said Brandon, "AA guns disabled. Proceeding to priority target. How copy?"

A moment of silence followed his sentence before a terse reply of, "Athena-6 actual copies all. Permission to execute."

Brandon stood and tapped Alison on the shoulder. Alison nodded, and they both took off silently for a warehouse on the other side of the compound. They were joined at the halfway point by another set of three ethereal shapes, outlined in green by her VISR.

They met at a small side door to the warehouse. Alison, Naomi, Brandon, Mal, and Vaz all stacked up in order along the warehouse wall and cracked their weapons. Each member of kilo-5 signaled they were ready by putting their hand on the shoulder of the trooper in front of them.

Alison heard Brandon take a deep audible breath, before finally giving the order.

"Execute, execute, execute," he said over the com.

Alison kicked the door in with her powerful armored foot, tearing it off its hinges, before leveling her SAW and charging through the doorway.

Brandon was hit by a wave of cold air as he and the rest of Kilo-5 followed Alison forward into the cryo storage warehouse. He was temporarily blinded by a gust of tiny, snow like ice crystals that blew in his face as he entered the dark room. He flipped on his rifle's flashlight and activated his armor's heating system, causing most of the particles that obscured his vision to melt from his visor.

What he found was an endless, unlit warehouse filled with nothing but AI storage devices, all emitting a sickly blue glue that dimly illuminated the floor, and the various cooling pipes that ran throughout the facility. Nothing seemed out of place, and Kilo-5's entrance didn't raise any visible alarm, so they kept moving.

He and the other members of Kilo-5 swept the dark room from top to bottom with their lights, searching for any URF personnel who might be hiding among the many racks of forerunner devices, but found none.

The warehouse was eerily silent other than the sound of cold air circulating throughout the facility. Brandon couldn't help but think this was far too easy. His bad luck hadn't struck yet, which was a record for any op he'd ever been on. If something bad didn't happen quickly his good fortune would inevitably become too good for the universe to handle.

Brandon deactivated his camo, and the rest of Kilo-5 followed suit. He withdrew a can of C8 and an electronic detonator.

I really shouldn't jinx myself before working with explosives, he thought.

"Alright troopers," said Brandon to the rest of Kilo-5. "Set your charges on all of the building's structural weak points, as well as any of the exposed devices. Naomi, provide security, and alert us if anyone comes in. Alison, link the detonators for synchronous activation. When that's done meet at the doorway. We'll retreat to the tree line, blow the warehouse and the AA guns, and signal Dev for extraction. "

Green lights illuminated his vision as they ran to complete their tasks.

Brandon and Alison immediately ran to a ceiling high stack of forerunner devices and began to coat the bottom of it in a double thickness layer of C8.

When the devices were thoroughly covered in resin, Alison reached into one of her Armor's many pockets and withdrew a detonator. She quickly armed it for remote detonation, set it to the proper frequency, and slammed it into the still hardening resin.

Brandon cracked a smile under his helmet. There was something undeniably sexy about a woman who could handle explosives.

Brandon nodded to her and dashed off to the next rack, but her hand caught his shoulder and stopped him.

She turned him around, forcing his eyes to meet the cold blackness of her visor, and reached out to swipe a Spartan smile across his faceplate. Then, without saying a word, she dashed off into the warehouse to complete her duty.

The action only took a couple of seconds, and it happened in the dark where no one could have seen it, but Brandon knew that was what a Spartan would consider a very public display of affection. Alison knew him and knew that a mission with this level of importance, with this many lives on the line, wasn't an easy thing for him to stomach, especially with his track record for survivability in the past.

He felt confidence swell inside him. With Alison watching his back, maybe he would make it out of this one alive.

He withdrew another can of C8 and knelt down to coat more forerunner devices, but stopped when a soft, red glow appeared behind him. Caught by surprise, he turned around quickly to a sitting position to see what it was.

His eyes fell upon the glowing red figure of a female AI avatar, projected from the ceiling in red lighting that was slowly fading into orange.

Dammit, he cursed. Did I activate one of the containment units?

He brought his rifle up to bear on it, only to feel stupid when the barrel phased through the AI's holographic forehead.

The AI smiled softly at his floundering. It's avatar was of a ridiculously tall woman, at least ten feet tall, wearing a kimono covered in a flowery pattern. Her eyes were ridiculously large, her hair was tied in a bun, and her face was heart shape that came to a small point at her chin.

The design of her avatar reminded Brandon of the five hundred-year-old Japanese film art style he believed was called anime. She seemed rather unconcerned with his hostility towards her and instead knelt down to meet him at eye level.

"Lieutenant David C. Brandon," said the AI. "UNSC Army 52nd Airborne division. Currently on temporary assignment with the Office of Naval Intelligence, and attached to Special Activities Division unit Kilo-5 aboard the UNSC _Murphy's Law_."

Brandon stared blankly at the AI. It couldn't know all that just by looking at him, right?

"How did you….." he said before his voice trailed off.

This was an enemy AI, something he wasn't used to encountering. This enemy might not be able to hurt him physically, but just like any UNSC AI it could pull any information it liked from thin air as long as it had a waypoint connection.

The AI winked at him knowingly and knelt down to meet him at his own level.

"Hello Lieutenant," she said sweetly. "what are you doing in my storage facility?"


End file.
